A Sky of Starlight
by The Box
Summary: When a strange train derails in the small town of Lillian, a group of friends are sucked up into the adventure of their lives... Started off as a novelisation of the movie, which has now led into a sequel story. Hope you enjoy it! (Sequel stuff starts at Chapter 25 but I'd recommend starting from the beginning.)
1. Steel and Snow

_Author's Note: So, here's some Super 8 for you. What kind of Super 8? Well..._

_The first half of this story is essentially a novelisation of the movie. And from that one sentence, you might already have some questions, such as: "Why should I read this?"_

_Unfortunately for me, that's a pretty valid question. Maybe you don't have easy access to the DVD. Maybe you want to re-experience your favourite scenes from a slightly different perspective. Maybe you just want to read some really awesome words (because I've definitely tried to make this story as awesome as I can). Or maybe you've stopped reading already and I'm just talking to myself like a crazy person._

_Another question might be: "Why would you write this?"_

_Well, first of all, Super 8 is a really good movie, so it's a lot of fun to write about. Secondly, I actually enjoy doing novelisations as a break from original work. I guess I find it relaxing? Sort of? But, enough about my weirdness. Hopefully you - that's right, you - get some enjoyment out of this, since it was fun to try and capture the essence of the movie._

_Update as of January 2014: I've reached the end of the movie! Wooo! That means that (after making a __few changes to the climax) this has progressed into an all-new sequel story. EXCITING. Sequel stuff starts at Chapter 25, and I've got a bunch of cool ideas - now I just need to find some time to write 'em..._

_(And one last disclaimer: I did not grow up in 80's America, so I apologise in advance if I get anything wrong.)_

* * *

><p><span>Steel and Snow<span>

Above the main floor of the Lillian steel mill's cutting shed, there is a big green sign. It announces, in strong white letters,

**SAFETY**

_**is our primary goal!**_

**Days since last accident: 7 8 4**

Sparks fly amid a haze of smoke and sound and grime. Workers in scrappy overalls toil amidst stacks of steel, using shrieking buzzsaws to cut the metal into sections, or smelting it down with beds of orange flame. A forklift navigates the crowded factory floor, cables dangling from its prongs. The barest hint of sunlight streams in through dirty windows.

One worker carries a ladder with him. He sets it down beneath the sign and begins to climb; standing on the second-highest rung, he can just reach the letters.

He takes down the '784', and puts up a '1'.

* * *

><p>It was a land covered in white, a dusting of powder that somehow made it seem… grimmer, colder than usual; a lack of colour, except for dull red house-brick and dark green pine. Snow covered the garden, covered the fields and the hills and the town. Clumps of it clung to the gutters and piled against the curb.<p>

The swing creaked softly under a grey sky. The boy sitting on it wore dark clothes: a suit and a shirt and a crumpled tie. His skin was flushed in the cold, and in one hand he held the most beautiful silver locket.

Inside, it was warm, and crowded, and comforting. But he wanted none of it.

* * *

><p>"I'm so worried for that boy." The woman looked out the window with sad blue eyes, at the child sitting in the snow.<p>

Her husband stood behind her, a plate of food in his hand. "Joe's gonna be okay."

"But she was everything to him."

"Jack's gonna step up. He's a good man."

"But he's never had to be a father before," the woman whispered. "I don't think he… _understands_ Joe."

The mourners mingled amid dreary brown curtains and fragile gloom. Some sat while others stood, illuminated by the soft glow of lamplight. The air was filled with morbid questions, idle chatter, whispered condolences.

_"How long had Elizabeth worked there? Five years?"_

_"No, I think it was six."_

A panting border collie wandered among the guests, brushing against seldom-used dresses and shiny black shoes. Its nose twitched, and it began trotting towards a group of four boys standing around a dinner table.

"What do you think was in the coffin?" one of them murmured conspiratorially. He was short, with blonde hair and rabbity teeth.

"Jesus, shut _up_."

"I'm just saying 'cause of how she died. You guys weren't wondering that?"

"_No_, I'm eating macaroni salad."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the clink of forks against pottery.

Then one of the other boys spoke up, chubby, dressed in an awkwardly-fitting suit. "I was wondering about that too – I heard it crushed her completely." He grimaced.

"Steel beam, those things weigh a ton. Literally."

"Ugh. I don't know how you guys can eat."

"Try a turkey roll and you'll discover how."

Across the other side of the room, the dog barked and jumped at a woman's plate.

"Lucy, down. Get down!" Its owner patted it on the head, and looked around the house. "Joe?... Anyone seen Joe?"

Nobody had.

"Bet Joe's not gonna want to do my movie anymore," the chubby boy said sadly.

"Why?"

"Why do you _think_ why? The story, it's about the living dead-"

"His mother's not a zombie," one of them interrupted.

"But she's dead, shithead."

There was a short pause.

"Hey, these turkey rolls are pretty good."

"Told you."

* * *

><p>Snow. He sat on the swing, surrounded by it, kicking it with his feet. The locket was cold in his hands. Behind him, a spindly old oak clutched at the sky with dark, dead fingers.<p>

Then... the throaty rumble of a car engine. He glanced up the hill and saw an old yellow Skylark winding its way down the asphalt, shattering the silence.

The boy looked on dully, long brown hair falling across his brow.

The car stopped outside the house. _His_ house. A man climbed out as it sputtered to a halt, dressed in a woolen black coat, tall, well-built, with stringy blonde hair. He walked along the drive and up the stairs to their front door, head bowed, with only the barest glance at the boy sitting on the swing.

The man smoothed his hair back and walked inside. The door swung shut with a loud creak. In the distance, a bird sang.

Muffled voices.

"I just want to talk to you, Jack-"

"Get him out of here."

"Would you just wait a minute? WAIT!"

Inside the house, something fell to the floor with a clang. The boy looked up.

"Jack! Jack, just let me-"

"No. Get out!"

The door was kicked open. Two men tumbled out of it, the blonde-haired one being pushed along in front, struggling against the handcuffs that held his arms behind his back. Their feet scraped through the snow.

"I knew this was a mistake," his father growled.

"Jack, I… Jack – augh!"

He pulled open the door of the police car in the driveway shoved the new arrival inside. The boy watched impassively, surrounded by quiet houses and old parked cars.

His father shut the door, panting with barely-supressed rage. He looked, saw his son on the red-painted swingset.

"Joseph, I'll be home soon."

He swung into the driver's seat and reversed out of the driveway, tyres squealing, sirens flashing red and blue.

The boy watched them go.

Then he blinked, and snapped the locket shut.


	2. The Wife

The Wife

Four months after that snowy day, school was out, and it was _awesome._ Bikes were pulled off the racks and buses pulled out of the parking lot as students streamed through the doors of Lillian Middle School. The dark brick walls echoed with laughter, and a high-flying American flag flapped in the stiff breeze.

Joe Lamb pushed through the crowd, a schoolbag draped over his shoulder, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His cherubic face was framed by messy brown hair, and he grinned ridiculously as he looked around for-

"Oh my god that was the longest day EVER!"

-Charles Kaznyk, his best friend, who suddenly appeared out of the crowd. He was a little taller, bigger, still afflicted with some childhood chubbiness (plus a rainbow-striped shirt that didn't do him any favours), and as he took his spot beside Joe he slapped a spiral notebook into his hands. "Here."

Joe squinted in the bright sunlight. "What's this?"

"New scene. Check it out."

Joe scanned the pages as they walked across the parking lot, surrounded by girls in summer dresses and boys in sweaty t-shirts. "Detective Hathaway has a wife now?" he asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. I think it might make a better movie… a better storyline, and production value."

"Hey! Guys!" The group became a trio as Cary joined them. He was a short kid with wavy blond hair and buck teeth, who always had this wonderfully manic expression plastered across his face. "Hey, guys! Martin barfed _all_ over his locker today. It was the grossest one _yet_."

"Oh my god, shut _up_," Charles retorted.

"I've never seen so many colours in my life!"

Joe couldn't help but smile. Walking through the parking lot, ears filled with whooping and hollering, the sun beating down upon his face, surrounded by two of his best friends, it just felt... _right_. Amazing. Awesome. It was a feeling he hadn't had too often in the last few months. _Sometimes, life is pretty great. Just try and remember that, hey? I wonder if I can- _He blinked, and turned back to Charles' notebook. "So who's gonna play the wife? Jen?"

"No WAY. I told you what she did with my top hat-"

"What wife?" Cary interrupted.

"Alice Dainard."

Joe stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, then had to run to catch up.

"I was returning that book on codes and ciphers," Charles explained. "She was in the silent reading section, and I asked her if she'd play Hathaway's wife."

They stopped at a gumball machine, next to the doors of the local 7-Eleven. Cary bent over and chucked in a coin, twisting the dial with a _click-click-click_. Joe looked at Charles with disbelief in his eyes. "Wait. You talked to Alice Dainard, _really?_"

"You're not supposed to talk at all in the silent reading section—" Cary whispered with mock horror.

"Shut up."

"—it's for _silent reading_."

Charles ignored him. "She said yes. We're filming tonight, and she's driving."

"Driving? Driving _where_?"

"The train depot. Didn't you read the scene I gave you?"

The three of them swung through the doors of the 7-Eleven, into a world of bright primary colours. Excited schoolkids sifted through shelves and fridges and tubs of lollies. Charles grabbed a pack of chewing gum from under the counter, began walking down the white-tiled central aisle.

Joe frowned. "Does Alice have a licence?"

"I don't know."

"Is she old enough?"

"I don't know."

"Whose car is she taking… Are you making this up?"

Charles sighed. "_Jesus_, freakshow, she offered to drive and I accepted." He fished a couple of chocolate bars out of a cardboard box. Cary looked at his gumball critically, standing in front of a cardboard cutout of an astronaut. "Can is see those?" he asked, taking the crumpled notebook from Joe's hands.

"Was she nice? Why is she doing this? I don't understand – we don't even _know_ her."

"Maybe she just wants to be in good movie. Did you ever think of that?" Charles rolled his eyes.

Joe was unconvinced. "I don't think that's what it is…"

"I've been working on this movie for months; I'm just trying to make it good."

They moved on, dodging a group of chattering middle schoolers. "Hathaway's married now?" Cary snorted. "Really?"

Charles snatched the script back and began looking through a shelf of Pringles. The arcade machine at the back of the store beeped and blooped. A harried-looking mom strode past, boxes of cereal under each arm.

Then Joe appeared at the end of the shelf. "What book was she reading?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"…What?"

"In the silent reading section, what book was Alice reading?"

"Who gives a rat's ass what she was reading?" Charles leant in close, his voice desperate. "The festival deadline is in a week, and my movie's _gotta_ be great."

* * *

><p>A DANGER sign: <em>no smoking, matches, or open lights.<em> Then, something snarls, and the camera swings over to the source of the noise.

In a grimy, gloomy hallway, a trench-coated detective struggles desperately. His assailant is a child-like terror, scratching, growling, pressing him up against the bare brick wall. A close-up of the terror's face; it's a zombie, with whited eyes and hungry, bloody lips. (The zombie also has braces… but the camera keeps them out of focus).

Wide shot: the detective struggles, teeth bared, hands pressed against the creature's shoulders. He pulls a gun from his pocket but the zombie snatches at it and the weapon falls to the floor. Cutaway to the gun, which skitters along the concrete. The detective spins away from the wall still holding the zombie at bay. Close-up of three sharp nails, embedded in a wooden beam. The camera moves with the struggling figures and the zombie growls again. Its eyes are… disturbing. The detective grimaces, then pushes the zombie back, slamming its head into the wall right where the nails would be.

The camera pulls back, sees the zombie lie still. The detective backs away – panting, horrified, triumphant. Cut back to the zombie, which gurgles terribly as syrupy-looking blood begins to dribble from its mouth, staining its checked shirt, dripping to the floor with gentle splats.

The screen goes white. In the background, the film reel continues to spin, clicking and flickering.

Joe turned away from the projector, smiling appreciatively. "That was a REALLY good zombie murder." _Seriously, it looks like we really_ did _shove Cary's head full of nails._

"Yeah, but it's not _story_ yet," Charles insisted. He got up from his desk, snatched an old shirt from where it hung in the window. Brightness suddenly filled the bedroom. "Older kids are entering this film festival, fifteen and sixteen-year-olds, who have better stories and…"

A box clattered to the floor. Joe winced.

"…and cars and production value. I've got _nothing_."

Mrs Kaznyk's voice echoed through the door. "_Charles, dinner!_"

"I'm coming!..." Charles rummaged through the blankets of his messy bunk bed, tossing old magazines over his shoulder. "There's this article I want you to read. It explains everything about stories."

Pencil drawings and movie posters plastered the bedroom walls: _Earthquake,_ _Dawn of the Dead, _Michael Myers in _Halloween. _The desk was loaded with a whole mess of boyish gear, from stereo speakers and scout badges to a globe and a telescope. A creaking shelf in the corner held schoolbooks and plastic model monsters, and strips of film hung from a stretched piece of elastic.

Joe walked over to his friend who was lying on the floor, looking through years of accumulated junk. "…I just don't understand how the wife helps make it a story," he said cautiously.

"Jesus, this is what I've been explaining. That scene we're filming tonight, where the… wife is telling the detective that she's scared for him, that she loves him-"

"_Charles, come on, move it!_" Another voice through the door. "_And wash your hands this time!_"

Joe smiled distantly. "I can't believe you talked to Alice Dainard."

"I'm coming!... So when he investigates the zombie stuff, you FEEL something." He found the magazine and stood up, brushing his knees. "You don't want him to die because they love each other. That make sense?"

It was quiet for a moment.

"…Alice Dainard, that's _awesome_."

Charles shook his head. "You're impossible."

"_CHARLES, NOW!_"

"God mom, I'm _COMING!_" He took a deep breath, looked Joe in the eye. "Midnight, okay? Don't forget."

Joe tore his thoughts back to the present. Charles slapped the magazine into his hand, and he held it against his chest.

"I won't."

* * *

><p>In the living room, everything was chaos. Half-a-dozen siblings crowded around, lured by the smell of meatloaf, and over by the kitchen bench Mrs Kaznyk argued with her pretty eldest daughter about parties and the length of her tube top.<p>

"It's not fair that I can't go to Wendy's. Every SINGLE person will be there except me!"

"When, then every single person can tell you how it was."

Jenny's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Mom-"

"It's your turn to babysit," Mrs Kaznyk said firmly.

"Why can't I switch with Charles?"

"Maybe because you crushed Charles' top hat. You ever think of that?" he replied from across the room, emerging from the hallway with Joe in tow.

"Oh really? Well guess what, we're _switching_," his sister hissed.

"Oh really? 'Cause guess what, no we're not." He imitated her voice as stupidly as possible.

"That's enough!" Mrs Kaznyk interrupted. "Charles, take this to the table. Benji, time for dinner." Suddenly, she noticed Joe standing at the back of the room. A smile swept across her face. "Hey Joe. Take a seat, we have lots of food," she said brightly.

He shook his head. "No, I'm okay, really. Thank you though."

Mr Kaznyk carried a stack of plates over to the table, waved at his middle two children. "_Move the puzzle, get the napkins. __Put them at the table."_ The youngest two got up from their positions in front of the clicked through a battered plastic photoviewer; another threw bits of cereal up into the air, catching them in his mouth. _"Stop it!"_

"See you tomorrow Charles," Joe said with a slight grin.

"Later days," his friend replied. Half a corncob was propped between his teeth.

Mr Kaznyk saw him leaving, and added "There's always a place for you here, Joe. You know that."

"Yes sir. Thank you."

As he walked out the door, Mr Kaznyk shared a worried glance with his wife. Their six children didn't notice, and were content to shout and argue and gather around the dinner table.

* * *

><p>Outside, it was blissfully quiet. No, not blissfully; <em>sadly<em> quiet. Joe missed that constant flood of activity and words and emotions, even though he knew that it wasn't... wasn't for him. _Instead, I've got a quiet street. A dark house. An empty twilight town._

Which was nice, in its own way... And being an only child, he was kind of used to it. A song played inside his head, one he always thought of in these moments – a simple piano melody above aching strings. He could never remember where he'd heard it.

Joe pushed his bike out of the Kaznyk's driveway and started the short trip back home; he lived barely fifty metres away from Charles' house, at the other end of the curve in Crystal Lane. He rode past slightly overgrown lawns and dark trees, past parked cars and dangling telephone wires. Shadows crept across the land, banished the by light that burned through shuttered windows.

The chain rattled beneath his feet. Pink clouds streaked against a greying sky.

* * *

><p>The house was silent as he entered. Dark. Melancholy.<p>

"Dad?" He glanced in the kitchen, saw nothing but wet dishcloths and a near-empty jug of orange juice. Moving back through the entrance hall, into the living room, still nothing.

"Dad?"

Just old armchairs and bookshelves and empty vases; a thick coat hung next to the laundry door, and good china hid in dark oak cupboards. The TV glowed gently in the gloom.

_"…that possibility with an announcement that, while it is not likely, the potential is there for the ultimate risk of a meltdown at the Three Mile Island atomic power plant outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania…"_

He walked through the living room, shoes scraping against the carpet, past his father's study, down the hallway with its framed pictures of old, sweet memories. Something tingled inside his big brown eyes.

Suddenly, he heard someone sniff.

Joe peered around the bathroom door, saw him sitting on the edge of the bath, head in his hands.

His father looked up suddenly. "Hey."

Joe took a sharp breath.

"I'll be out in a minute." Jack Lamb sniffed again, stood up, and pushed the door shut.

"…_Robert Schakne reports from Washington. According to the government's top officials…"_

* * *

><p>Carol's diner stood at the corner of Harwood and Fifth, right in the centre of town, the bottom level of a two-storey block. Spotlights lit up its fake granite walls, glinted off the damp night streets. A red neon sign in the window announced 10-cent slices of pizza.<p>

Inside, it was quiet as always. Fairy lights spiralled around polished wooden banisters and black leather couches. An old pop song played from a distant jukebox. Joe sat with his father at a corner table, which held a only a beer, a basket of bread, and a warm glass of milk.

People had always said that Joe looked more like his mother than his father. Those serious eyes that looked out from under dark brows and combed black hair, those broad shoulders and tanned arms... they were at odds with the pale-faced boy that sat beside him.

Jack Lamb pulled a brochure from his pocket and put it on the table in front of his son.

"It's a six week program. Hands on training with college coaches." His voice was kind. "You'd like it. I know I did."

Joe looked at the brochure, unblinking. "I thought I was gonna have the summer for myself-"

"Things have obviously changed for us." His mouth twitched. "And it'd be good for you to spend some time with kids who don't run around with cameras and monster makeup."

Jack took a sip of his beer. Joe unfolded the brochure. _'Hewitt Baseball Camp is an intensive fundamental training program. We are not a team-oriented competitive environment. We teach fundamentals in a fun, disciplined, non-competitive atmosphere. After attending out program, young baseball players are better suited to…' _Rows of smiling kids stared at him from the glossy paper.

"I _have_ to help Charles finish his movie," he said, insistently, looking at his father's face.

Jack gave an almost inaudible grunt. He swallowed, searching for somewhere to put his gaze. "I've got nothing against you friends, I like your _friends_," he began. "'Cept for Cary, who can't seem to stop lighting things on fire. But… you'd like it there. It's what we both need."

They sat at the table in silence. An uncomfortable silence, filled with little twitches and glances and things left unsaid. Hidden in Joe's palm was a silver locket.

His father saw it there, glinting silver, and looked away with a sudden burst of sadness.


	3. Waiting for a Train

_Author's Note: I've wondered about how much of Joe's 'thoughts' I should include, especially in the scenes where he's alone; obviously, internal dialogue is something that suits books better than movies. But hey, I guess I'll find the right balance as I go. I'm also including the deleted scenes in this story, just because more Super 8 can never be a bad thing :-). _

_Another interesting (...not really) point is that the dialogue in the movie has a really fast, kinetic pace to it (because, well, high school kids actually talk like that), which is difficult to get in writing. For clarity you have to add in phrases like 'Joe asked' or 'Preston smiled', which can mess up the flow if you're not careful._

_Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. Enjoy._

* * *

><p><span>Waiting for a Train<span>

The night was dark and full of stars. The old clock radio said 12:02, and a late-night serial echoed from the speakers: _"But they offered you no real proof he was alive. And you didn't, so the decision was made. Leave the past alone, Martha."_

"_I can't – well, how much would a ton of gold be worth today?"_

In a messy boy's bedroom, a thin paintbrush dabbed against a resin model, adding fine detail to blood-red lips. Joe peered through the thick magnifying glass, one hand propped against his forehead.

Brushes of all sizes lay on the shelf above his desk, next to more resin statues – a suited mummy, Dr Jekyll in mid-transformation, a shiny blue Mustang, a tall knight with a big red lance. A dozen jars of paint were scattered across newspaper sheets. The only light came from a sputtering desk-lamp.

It seemed like Joe was concentrating, but his thoughts were far, far away. You could even say that they were in a _galaxy_ far, far away, if you wanted to include another pop-culture reference.

_I can't wait until Star Wars 2 comes out... __Hey, I wonder if the Death Star counts as a 'shooting star'? Because then I could totally make a wish, and I'm pretty sure I deserve some wishes after that epic report card. __But what do you wish for?_

There was the promise of endless summer, of warm grass and blue skies and late nights and (best of all) no homework. There were his friends, and anticipation for a night-time adventure. There was that sick, uncertain, _helpless_ feeling that bubbled up whenever he thought of that stupid Hewitt Baseball Camp, casting a shadow over everything.

And there was his father, who tried so hard, he really did. But...

_My dad only understands the kid that he was thirty years ago. The kid who liked baseball, and had cool friends, and went on camp every summer. He just can't understand the one who's right in front of him, the one that makes movies and models and gets a stupid C-minus on his biology reports. Achingly different._

That was how it had always been, these past few months; two strangers living in the same house, orbiting each other like distant stars. Drawn together, once, by a woman. A mother, who was...

He scratched his neck, tilted his head.

_But there's also a girl. A beautiful, radiant, amazing girl, with blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Someone so incredible that she makes your breath jump every time she-_

_Oh, come on, focus. You'll mess up the colours._

Joe was painting the Hunchback of Notre Dame; the box the model had come in lay by his feet. He added a layer of green to its chest with another tiny brush and stared critically at its distorted features, trying to ward off tiredness.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie on his desk crackled to life. He jumped.

Charles' voice, nervous, excited: _"Okay, it's time. Don't get caught. Over."_

"I won't. Over."

Joe stowed the antenna and clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt. He leant over his bed, grabbed his schoolbag and heavy toolbox, then tiptoed out of his room as quickly as he could, a smile plastered across his face.

* * *

><p>Five boys sat on a bump in the ground, singing along (terribly) to <em>My Sharona<em>. In addition to Joe, Charles, and Cary, there was Preston, a tall, pale-skinned kid with a nasally voice and slightly girly eyelashes, and Martin, even taller, who wore thick glasses and a costume-store trenchcoat under a mop of combed brown hair.

_Ba-ba-ba-ba-bump bump, bump bump ba-ba-bump. _Crickets chirped in the dark cold night, providing accompaniment. Preston mimed thrashing on a guitar while Cary whipped his hair back and forth. Joe tapped his foot to the a-capella beat. _"__When you gonna give me some time, Sharona? Ooh you make my motor run, my motor run…__"_

They trailed off. A red Twizzler dangled from Joe's lips; he held out another in front of Charles' face, who snatched it up a second later. The boys were all dressed warmly, Charles in the crumpled yellow jacket he always wore, Joe in a navy blue, open-necked jumper.

"Wait, so guys – people are turning into zombies because of the chemical factory, right?" Martin whispered in the sudden silence.

"Awwww."

"Oh my _god_."

"_Wow_."

Charles groaned with the rest of them. "I don't see how the guy playing Detective Hathaway can ask where the zombies are coming from. _Jesus_."

"Well, technically Hathaway hasn't even-"

"Shut up." Charles threw something at him, and everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Was that a _rock_?"

"…It was a _Twizzler_!"

"Dude, where'd it go?"

Charles half-choked on his own Twizzler. Martin sulked. "I'm sorry, 'Smartin'," Cary giggled, patting him on the back.

Suddenly, a beam of light swept across their faces.

"Hey, guys, look. Look!" Joe pointed. The group turned as one, caught in the glare of approaching headlights and the distinctive rumble of a car engine. A battered yellow Skylark pulled to a stop at the curb.

"It's okay, Smartin," Cary whispered.

"Shut up."

_"Bump bump ba-ba-bump…" _The boys hefted their bags and walked across the grass, stopping in front of the car. Black racing stripes were painted along the hood, and inside was-

A confident, carefree figure just _carved_ out of girlhood prettiness – thin lips and rounded cheekbones framed by long blonde hair. Joe's heart leapt. _Ohmygodit'sreallyher-_

"Hey Alice," Charles said nervously.

She pushed open the passenger door and leant back, staring at them with shadowy hazel eyes. Stared for a moment too long.

"Joe _Lamb_?" she asked suddenly. Warily.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell's he doing here?"

"Makeup, sound and special effects," Charles explained, even more nervously.

"He's the Deputy's kid!"

"So what?"

Joe smiled dreamily. "You knew that?"

"Charles, I don't have a licence. I can't drive with him." Alice stared at them angrily.

"…You want Joe to stay behind? I guess-"

"It's too late! He's seeing me in the car right now!" she yelled back, disgusted.

There was a pause. The crickets chirped.

Then: "You can trust me," Joe said quietly.

Alice just glared at him.

"My dad will never know. I won't – I won't tell him anything." He gave her the most earnest, trustworthy look he could muster. His face was hot, and his heart thumped in his chest. _Please._

Gradually, her expression softened – just a little. She sighed, put her hands on the wheel. "Get in."

Joe grinned.

* * *

><p>The Skylark zoomed through the night, purring along the deserted forest road. Six kids were crammed inside, three in the back, three in the front, sitting up against fake leather upholstery. About four different conversations were occurring at once, above the strains of <em>Bye Bye Love<em> that played on the stereo. "_Byeeee, byeeee, love... b__yeeee, byeeee, sweet caress…"_

"So I wrote a couple of new lines," Charles announced. "Can I show you?"

Alice took her eyes off the road for a moment. "What?"

"_New lines_? Charles, do I have new lines?" Martin looked even more annoyed/petrified than usual.

The car swung around a bend. "I'm impressed at your driving," Preston murmured quietly.

"You know the first place I'm gonna drive when I get my license?" Cary interrupted. "New Castle, Pennsylvania. Fireworks capital of America."

Charles ignored him, turned back to Alice. "Do you know what'd be great? Is if you could cry during the scene. Can you do that?"

She shook her head, slightly irritably. "No."

"Wait, so I don't have new lines, right?" Martin asked. "Because I _just_ learned these."

From the back seat, Joe offered her another Twizzler. "Want one?"

After a moment, Alice grabbed it from his hand and stuck it in her mouth. She glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, hazel eyes framed by long blonde hair.

"_Bye, bye, love,_

_ Bye, bye, sweet caress…"_

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, the car was trundling along on bumpy dirt track, cutting through a wide, rolling field that was dotted with bushes and low fences. A single train-line ran through the grass, the rails glowing silver in the moonlight. Lillian's distant nightlights twinkled on the horizon. In the middle of the field was the old train station, a two-room weatherboard building mounted upon a wooden platform. It wasn't used too often these days but was still well-maintained, with bright windows and clean benches; ivy curled around the edges of the platform, creeping up the wooden railings, and chairs and windows ran around the outside of the building. A couple of spotlights hung from the gutters, flaring in the night. <em>Because of course, too much lens flare is never enough.<em>

The car pulled up next to the station in a cleared patch of grass, and everyone tumbled out in a cloud of dust and laughter. Cary ran around and opened the boot, pulled out his schoolbag. Alice held the doors for the others as they climbed out. Martin held his script in his hand, shouted after his friend. "Charles! Charles, man, do I have new lines or not? Oh no NO-" The wind snatched the papers from his fingers and sent them flying across the grass.

"Well, you just lost all your new lines, Martin," Preston deadpanned with his usual awesomeness. Joe smiled as the strong night breeze whipped his hair into his eyes. They gathered their equipment as Martin chased after his fleeing whirlwind of paper.

"Guys, there's an electrical outlet up here!" Charles was already up on the station platform. He knelt down and framed a shot with his hands – looking southward, following the train tracks across the field. "This is gonna be great!" he yelled, grinning. "Get the lights and camera set up on that end, we'll shoot this direction first!"

Joe trudged up the stairs to the station, carrying his schoolbag and toolbox. Charles stood up, started walking back across the platform. "Joe, get the mike plugged in and make sure the _new_ batteries are in the camera-"

"Okay."

"-BEFORE you do the makeup."

"Okay. Okay."

Preston held a Super-8 camera up against his face, squinting through the eyepiece. Cary sat on a bench, digging around in his own bag, babbling excitedly. "I took apart two packs of cherry bombs and made my own M-80. Do you – do you wanna see it?"

"Your obsession with fireworks - and I'm saying this as a friend - _concerns_ me. And my mother." Preston clicked the lens into place. Joe handed him the new batteries, then went to connect up the mike, untangling the twisted mess of cables.

Martin leant against a pole, rehearsing his lines. Upon his head was a rather dapper hat, like the kind you might see at a horse-race. His trenchcoat flapped in the wind "Sweetheart, this is my job. I have no choice. It's nothing that you need to worry about – what am I supposed to do, go to Michigan with you?... Sweetheart, this is my job-"

"Martin! I wrote a new line," Charles called out. He got up, handed a notebook to his star.

"What? No." Martin shook his head firmly.

"What do you mean 'no'? It's awesome. Okay, so you know that part when…"

Alice was slightly bewildered by the hive of activity, and Joe led her over to a quiet corner. He opened his toolbox and unfolded the trays inside. It was filled with little containers, brushes, jars of paint - _m__y box of makeup and magic tricks. I wonder what my dad would think if he saw all this. I wonder what _she-

He picked out a makeup brush, shivering with nervousness and disbelief and excitement.

_"I just finished memorising this line!"_

_ "It's not gonna be hard. So, you know that part when you say-"_

_ "Well, where'd the other line go?"_

"Uh, do you mind?" he murmured, staring at her eyes.

She shook her head. "No."

He rubbed a bit of foundation on the brush and dabbed it across Alice's cheek.

_"It's gone! This one's better."_

_ "The old one flowed better."_

_ "No, it didn't."_

"Here, I'll…" She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then tied it into a scrappy bun. "There."

"Thanks." Joe smiled, and wondered how the hell life had led him to this moment.

* * *

><p>Over on the bench, Martin and Charles kept arguing.<p>

"Now I'm not prepared!"

"Look, it flows better," Charles assured him, patting his shoulder. "'Honey, I love you.' 'I love you too.' See? It flows."

Martin stared at his script dejectedly. "I _know_, but you keep changing things and making it difficult for me."

* * *

><p>The brush swept over Alice's skin, smoothly, delicately. It wasn't doing much improvement but Joe didn't really care. A row of red signal-lights curved into the distance behind them, dots in the darkness.<p>

"_It's… Martin, it's simple. 'I love you too.' It's like, four words!"_

_ "Four words that I don't have memorised!"_

Alice looked down as Joe brushed against her chin. She swallowed.

"My dad works at the mill," she said, almost too quiet to hear. Suddenly her eyes were staring directly into his, challenging, watching for a response.

_"Martin. Can you say, 'I love you?'"_

_ "No."_

_ "Say it!"_

_ "No!"_

_ "Say it!"_

Joe let his hand fall. His face was still, expressionless, except for a short intake of breath. But inside, he was-

The moment passed.

"Uh, could you close your eyes please?" He grinned nervously.

"Oh. Yeah."

* * *

><p>Two minutes later, everyone was ready. Alice and Martin stood in front of the station building, next to an old pin-up board. A pair of spotlights balanced upon a thin metal stand. Martin wore his full costume, the beige trenchcoat and hat with a poorly-knotted tie; Alice wore a long green coat over her jeans and a gold locket around her neck.<p>

"So the scene is very emotional," Charles explained. "Alice, Mrs Hathaway really doesn't want her husband to keep investigating these zombie murders. You really hate it-"

"Yeah, I know. We read it. We get it." Alice cut him off.

Charles stepped back, a bit hurt. "God, I'm just directing." He moved around the set, framing another shot over Alice's shoulder. "Martin. _Martin_, get in position. You need to reassure her – wait. Do you know what 'reassure her' means?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Okay. We're gonna shoot on Alice's side first. Okay, Preston, so a few seconds after I say 'action' I want you to walk over to the payphone, make the place look like it's busy." He picked up the receiver and pretended to dial a number. "Hello? Hello?"

"I _know_ what that looks like," Preston said exasperatedly.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG! _

Everyone jumped. Sparks erupted from the bag by Cary's feet, shooting off into the night.

"Asshole!" Charles stalked over to him. "Could you stop blowing shit up for two seconds and deal with the camera?"

"_God, _sorry man," Cary replied, smiling widely, still holding the lighter. A couple of burnt firecrackers lay by his feet.

Charles sighed, then turned back to his two actors. "Okay you guys, let's rehearse this. But remember, save the real performance for when we're filming."

Everyone nodded. Their director held up a hand.

"Here we go. Positions - _aaannnd_ – action!"

"So, I'm going to stay here and investigate," Martin began, reading from the script in his hand. "I think it'd be safer if you left town for a couple of days." He looked into Alice's eyes. The police badge on his lapel glinted in the spotlights.

"John, I don't like it. This case, these murders."

In the background, Preston walked up to the payphone and began talking into the receiver.

"Well what am I supposed to do – go to Michigan with you?"

"Mackinaw Island's beautiful this time of year." Alice's voice was soft, heartfelt; Martin was getting over some of his awkwardness too.

"Sweetheart, this is my _job_."

"…The dead, coming back to life? I think you're in danger."

"I have no…" Martin turned the page. "I have no choice."

"You do have a choice. We all do." Suddenly, Alice's voice began cracking up, oddly vulnerable.

And that was it. Joe stared, open-mouthed. Charles brushed a mosquito from his ear. Preston gave up 'looking busy' and stopped to watch like the rest of them.

"…John. I've never asked you to stop. I've never asked to give up, or – walk away. But I'm asking you now." She looked up. "Please. For me. Don't go… don't leave me. I need to know this isn't the last time I'm going to see you. I..."

Her lips trembled on the verge of tears. "...I just love you so much."

Up on the station platform, Martin stared at her for the longest moment. Eventually, he murmured, "I love you too."

Joe swallowed. Right at that moment, it felt like _magic._

Then Alice stepped back, a critical expression on her face. "Was that good?" she asked.

Preston stared at the sky like a startled rabbit. Martin wiped something from his eye. "Uh. Uh…" Charles began. "…Yeah. Yeah, that was um… That was great," he managed.

Then, suddenly, in the distance, echoing through the night - the horn of an oncoming train. _Braaaaahhhhmmm…_

Charles ran to the end of the platform, saw lights approaching down the train tracks. His face lit up. "_PRODUCTION_ VALUE!" he screamed.

Everyone just stared.

"...Cary, you put film in the camera, right?"

"_I_ didn't put it in!"

"What? Put it in, put it in! Joe, get the mike ready! Go go go! Preston, get in costume, costume, COSTUME!"

"Okay, I will!"

There was a mad scramble of limbs and shouting and tangled feet. A box of film was snatched off the floor; Joe swung the boom mike around, connecting the leads. Everyone swarmed around the platform, searching through their bags, juggling equipment.

"Joe, help her! Hurry up! Martin, get that tripod set up! Preston, GET IN POSITION!" Charles pointed furiously.

"I _will_, I have to get the money-"

Alice shrugged off her coat and and stepped into a flowery dress. Joe helped her zip it up and threw a different coat on top of it, a thick brown one that was probably Mrs. Kaznyk's. Martin plonked a tripod down and set the camera on top of it, then started reading through his lines one last time-

"GO! Get these headphones ready! Martin, you _know_ your lines. Hurry! Get that camera ready! Go, go!"

"Shut up! We'll start on Alice and pan to the train, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, oh god, I hope we don't miss it-"

The tracks hummed as the train came ever closer. The engine rumbled in the night, getting louder, louder, and then the crossing signals began to sound: _ding dong ding dong ding dong-_

"Shut up I am TRYING!"

"Hurry! Get that set up! Positions, positions!"

Joe held the boom mike out in front. The actors stood to attention. Charles moved out of the camera's field of view, tugged a pair of headphones onto his head. "Ready! Start filming. Be _extra_ loud when the train passes by."

Cary snapped the film casing shut, put both hands on the big black camera. Inside, a reel of Super 8 began to whirr.

"Here we go. Aaannd… action!"

"Look – I'm going to stay here and investigate. I think it'd be safer if you left town for a couple of days," Martin said, loudly, firmly. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"John, I don't like it. This case. These murders." Alice spread her hands. Behind her, Preston walked into the scene and dialled the payphone.

"What do you want me to do, go to Michigan with you?"

"…Mackinaw Island's beautiful this time of year.

_Braaahhm braaaahhhhmm… __Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-_

The train was almost at the station, a travelling ocean of brightness. Its headlights lit up the tracks ahead of it, coming closer, closer- Then, suddenly, the engine _roared_ past them, then the first carriage, the third, fourth, fifth – big hunks of metal sweeping through the darkness. _Click-clack. Click-clack. _Joe glanced at the blur of machinery, felt the wind of its passing ruffle his jacket.

"The dead coming back to life? I think you're in danger!" Alice had to shout over the roar of the engine.

"I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE!" Martin screamed back.

"You do have a choice! We all do!"

Charles' frown was gradually turning into a smile. The world had become a camera, two actors and a speeding train. _Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack._

"John, I've never asked you to stop! I've never asked you to give up or walk away!"

The horn beeped again, echoing over the grass, fainter now that the engine had passed them. Joe looked behind him, and saw - a car. A white pickup truck, speeding down the dirt track they'd driven only ten minutes before. _Is that?-_

"…But I'm asking you now!" Alice was saying, shaking her head desperately. "Please, for me – just don't go back! Don't leave me! I need to know this isn't the last time I'm going to see you!"

The car came to the railway crossing, then _swung onto the tracks_, tyres screeching, barrelling towards the oncoming train. It bounced up and down as it sped over the sleepers. The train horn beeped again. Joe looked on in horror. The distance between them was closing fast and the train wasn't slowing down, a metal monster, unstoppable_-_

"I love you so much!"

"I love you too-"'

"GUYS, WATCH OUT!" he shouted suddenly.

Everyone turned. Charles _glared_. "Joe, what the _hell_ are you-"

Car met train. Metal screamed. The pickup exploded in a ball of fire and flipped sideways, spinning wildly. There was an incredible sound, a low roar like TV static amplified a thousand times.

A split-second of chaos. The group stared, frozen with fear and amazement.

The train engine caught on a piece of wreckage and slowed suddenly, but the carriage behind it kept going and slid _upwards_, metal crumpling, riding up the back of the engine car, the end twisting off like a warm Twizzler. Wheels screeched. A cloud of sparks erupted from the carriage behind, which was torn off the tracks and dove into the field in a cloud of dust and grit.

Then Cary broke the spell, shouted "OH MY GOD RUN!"

Which seemed like a sensible suggestion, so they did.


	4. The Crash

_Author's Note: The train crash is a pretty epic scene in the movie, but trust me, when putting it into words you'll get sick of trying to find different ways of writing "everything exploded BOOM CRASH BURN!" Because hey, pretty much everything _does _explode._

_Also..._

_HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!_

_EDIT: Haven't updated in a while because of other projects, which I _really_ wanted to get done during the Christmas holidays. Anyways, I'll add a couple of new chapters in March (just in case, you know, anyone's actually still reading this :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Crash<span>

In that moment, it was like hell on earth.

"Oh my god!"

"GO!"

A chain reaction of physics and destruction sped down the train like a demented Newton's cradle, until suddenly the carriages in front of them were buckling and warping and sparking. They began to slide off the tracks at sixty miles per hour, slewing along the grass, tearing up great chunks of dirt, spinning and impacting with great echoing _BOOMS. _Something hit the ground with a shower of sparks. Metal twisted. A cloud of fire lit up their faces, incredibly bright.

The group whipped around and began sprinting to the opposite end of the platform. The camera clattered to the floor with film still whirring inside.

"Holy shit!"

"Go go go!"

Alice stared into the chaos, at the last carriages of the train that were still coming up the tracks with discordant squeals. The rest of the group pelted back across the platform towards the open field. Joe stopped, noticed her standing there frozen. A hundred tons of metal sped through the air five metres from her face, beginning to fly-

"_ALICE!"_ he screamed.

She twitched and ran off behind the station building, out of sight, just as the trailing carriages snaked to the left and clipped the corner of the platform. Wood burst into a cloud of splinters. A traincar flipped through the air, end over end, coming towards-

"Joe, let's go we have to GO!" Charles grabbed his shirt and pulled him away, after the others, all thoughts of _production value_ fled from his mind to make room for pure survival.

* * *

><p>Preston and Martin ran around the side of the station, debris raining down upon their heads. "Are we alive?" They pushed through a clump of bushes and took shelter underneath the platform, crawling through the dirt, eyes wide and full of animal panic. "I don't know! Just keep-"<p>

* * *

><p>The others sprinted across the grass. Someone screamed incoherently. The world was a blur of fire and moonlit steel, ears filled with the shriek of tearing metal. Another carriage flew of the tracks and skidded along the ground beside them, sparks and dust flying, the end disappearing in a wisp of fire. Signal poles shattered like toothpicks; rails and sleepers spiralled through the air. It began slewing towards the station, heading right for-<p>

A hundred tons of metal slammed through the station building. Fire bloomed from every crack and crevice, exploding through the roof, through the windows, through the shattered walls. Weatherboard was reduced to splinters as the carriage flew out the other side. Under the platform, Martin and Preston were enveloped in a choking cloud of dust. Debris clattered to the floor, spun through the smoke. Something else went up in flames, shoving another carriage sideways sending it tumbling end over end - and through it all, a constant thunder, a constant deafening _ROAR_ dotted with _cracks_ and _booms_ and _clunks _so loud they made your ears ache.

Joe ran. Just _ran_, arms pumping, breath searing through his lungs. Fire was everywhere, lighting up the sky. They slipped between two crumpled carriages and were blasted by a wave of heat from another explosion. Charles looked behind him at the devastation, the blackened ground, the forty traincars scattered like toys across a sheet, the train station that was now just a jagged scorched foundation. For maybe the first time in his life he literally couldn't believe his eyes. "_I don't wanna die!"_

A cylindrical fuel car was punted by some irresistible force, using another freight carriage like a ramp. A bell-like _clang_ reverberated from the metal and it soared through the air, incredibly, dreamily, going up in an arc, then inevitably coming down, down, hitting-

It slammed into the ground in front of them, erupting in fire that flowed across the grass like water. Josh stumbled, reeled from the heat. The world was silhouetted in red and black. He raised an arm in front of his eyes, shielding his face.

The others had disappeared somewhere, scattered by the flames. He looked behind him, couldn't see them, just focused on moving his legs up and down, filled with adrenalin. _Gotta keep moving, gotta stay alive. Just RUN._ He ran past another couple of twisted carriages, dodging jagged steel plates and snapped axles. A bit of open ground was coming up ahead.

There was a noise like a rocket taking off. A flaming piece of debris fell through the air, followed by a trail of fire. It was like being in a movie, a friggin' summer blockbuster, except everything on the set was actively trying to kill you-

The debris clunked into the dirt just in front of him and he skidded to a stop; it was box of some sort. Flames licked around its edges. Joe looked at it, saw EXPLOSIVES stencilled across the metal. His eyes widened.

_Not good._ He turned as fast as he could and began backing away. There was a _hisssss_-

_BOOM!_ A jet of fire shot into the air, blossoming, expanding, bright as a new sun. Joe fell to the ground, pushed by a wave of air heat, put his hands over his ears and just waited for it to stop. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils. _Please, please, I can't-_

A bit of twisted doorframe bounced across the dirt beside his head.

_Thunk._

And abruptly, there was silence.

Blissful silence.

_Oh my god._

Joe felt his greasy hair, felt the dirt that covered his arms and legs and face and just lay there in the grass, his heart beating so goddamn fast, filled with utter relief and exhaustion and…

_THUD. _Metal shrieked. Joe looked up, took a sudden breath. A train carriage lay on its side in front of him. He stood up, and the carriage… rumbled. Rocked from side to side. He stared at it open-mouthed. Suddenly, the silver locket was in his hand.

_Thud. Thud._ The carriage moved again. There was another noise, a weird _chirping_ that echoed from the metal. It was like something was inside,_ something alive_, something trying to get out-

The carriage door flew from its hinges, spiralling up through the air. _Smack!_ It speared into the dirt ten metres behind him – twisted, broken, a big slab of metal that had been thrown like it was a child's toy. Joe turned back to the carriage. He was breathing quickly, hyperventilating. His legs shook.

He waited…

…but nothing moved in the ring of wreckage.

All around him, cooling metal creaked and ticked. Gradually, the shock faded, and the fear the filled his mind was replaced by something else - concern, worry, panic. He looked around, but couldn't see his friends.

_I hope they're okay._

Joe tried to reconcile that thought with the wasteland around him, with that last glimpse of his friends all surrounded by fire... with that last sight of Alice standing before the train, coat flapping in the wind.

* * *

><p>Lying in the ruins, abandoned, the camera finally stopped filming with a soft <em>click<em>. The lens glittered in the firelight.

* * *

><p>Ash and smoke filled the air in great choking clouds. Floating embers dotted the sky. The whole area around the station was just <em>devastated<em>, scorched earth, a warzone dotted with wreckage and rubble. Torn and twisted carriages were scattered across the field. Spot fires licked at the grass. Alice's car – Alice's _father's_ car – stood in the middle of it, miraculously undamaged except for a few dents, a broken window and a thick new layer of dirt.

Joe walked past it all, dumbfounded, looking for his friends. They had to be still here, still alive, didn't they? People didn't just _die._

_But that's not true, is it_, a dark corner of his mind reminded him. His shoes scraped across torn camouflage netting and trampled bushes. He almost tripped over another axle in the darkness. _Come on, think. Breathe. _He came to the train tracks, which were buckled and twisted just like everything else, raised up into the air. He grunted and climbed over them, dropped down to the other side, looking-

_"BLEEUURRGH." _

Joe's his heart leapt. There they were, Martin and Preston, standing around by an upside-down freight car. He'd never been happier to see their faces. "Guys!" he shouted.

Preston whipped around. "I'm okay," he blurted, holding up one arm. "Though I think I'm having a heart attack. And I have a scrape!" He looked like a ghost, pale and shellshocked.

"Martin, you okay?" Joe called out.

Martin gave a wobbly thumbs up from where he was leaning over, vomiting. A stream of orange and white… stuff… trickled out of his mouth. Half-digested carrot, it looked like, plus a whole load of slimy custard-

"Joe! Oh my god." It was Cary, walking towards them, Charles in tow. "Guys, did you see those explosions?"

_But there's one still missing… _"You guys seen Alice?" Joe asked hoarsely. His skin felt kind of weird, all red and burnt.

Cary ignored him. "THAT WAS UNBELIEVABLE!" he yelled. He looked a bit like a wet dog, with tangled hair and dirty teeth, but his face glowed with excitement. Charles just looked like hell, his jacket all torn and covered in dirt.

Joe looked around, squinting, trying to see past all the smoke and the wreckage. Then he looked down, and saw – blood. Red, wet blood, slicking the sharp edge of the train car just in front of him.

"Why did this happen?" Martin was saying. "It's like-"

"Martin, it's gonna be okay," Charles said reassuringly.

"No it's _not_, dude. _Look at this_." Martin had seen the blood too.

The boys walked over to the half-buried train car. Shards of wood and dented metal plates that crunched under their feet. The carriage looked like it had been _jammed_into the ground, and the visible end was warped almost beyond recognition.

They stared at the blood, frozen, none of them daring to go closer. Cary looked horrified. Joe just looked… dead.

"_Shit shit shit shit…_" Martin muttered.

Joe forced himself to take deep breaths. He imagined pulling away the metal, finding an arm, a scrap of a dress, tried not to-

"What's all that blood?" someone asked uncertainly.

A girl's voice.

The boys turned around. "_Alice_?"

It was. She climbed towards them, picking her way through the rubble. "What's the blood? Did someone get hurt?"

Charles smiled with relief. Preston still looked flabbergasted by the whole thing. She looked almost unreal, covered in dirt and with her coat almost torn in half, but she was _alive_.

_That's all that matters_. _We're alive. But what about the blood? _Joe turned back to the red stain that slicked the fallen carriage. He knelt down in the darkness, reached a hand inside. There were flames in the compartment, hot and bright, and something-

"What are you doing?" Cary asked. "Joe, you don't know what's under there!"

Martin tried to peer into the traincar. "Hey, come on, don't-"

_Got it. _His fingers closed around a handle. He stood up and turned back to the others, holding up his toolbox. Streaks of red syrup had dripped all over it, coating the lid, the handle, the trays inside. "It's my fake blood," he explained, full of relief. "It's fake!"

Preston sighed. Charles let out a breath. Then... something jingled in the wind, almost too quiet to hear. Alice stared at him weirdly, and Joe looked down.

_Oh._

The silver locket dangled from his hand, reflecting the firelight. The chain had left red marks on his fingers.

Joe stuffed it into his pocket and tried to smile.

* * *

><p>They moved through the wreckage, exploring the aftermath, looking for stuff that <em>wasn't<em> broken.

"…Guys?" Preston said nervously. "Come here, what are these things?"

"Shit! No one cares!" Martin yelled. "Look around you!"

"They're heavy, like metal. There's like a billion of them!" Charles said distantly. "They look like white Rubik's Cubes or something."

"I don't think that's what they are… They don't move."

"What is going _on_?"

"Martin, it's gonna be okay, all right?"

"Are you _serious?"_

Scattered in the grass were hundreds of white cubes, made of… something. They felt warm and smooth, like plastic but much heavier. Each cube seemed to have been melted together from dozens of smaller ones, creating tiny bone-white lattices. Whole _crates_ of the things that had fallen out of one of the carriages, big army crates filled with thousands and thousands of little white squares.

"You guys! Get up here. You can see everything from up here!" Cary called out.

Joe picked one of the cubes up and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't have room in his mind for another mystery, so he just followed the others and pulled himself up onto the side of the nearest traincar, grunting with effort.

Up at the top, they were above most of the smoke, and Joe took a deep, clean(ish) breath. Most of the fires had flickered out, blown away by the wind; but it was incredible, how far the devastation reached, at least a hundred metres in every direction. Metal had torn like paper and melted like cheese. The remains of the station scratched at the moonlit sky.

"According to my Uncle Seth, an accident like this is _exceptionally_ rare," Preston announced.

_Except… _Joe remembered a truck, driving on the tracks. "It wasn't an accident," he said slowly.

"What?"

"There was a truck on the train tracks."

"Are you serious?"

"What, like driving on the tracks?" Charles stared at him.

Joe looked across the ruined field, scanning the wreckage for- "There." He pointed. The cab of the pickup truck lay in the dirt, one half of it almost entirely pulverised, the other half tilting into the air at a weird angle.

"Oh my gosh," Cary breathed.

They stared at the truck, and wondered who'd been driving it.

* * *

><p>"How could a pickup truck derail a train, man?" Martin asked. "That's <em>impossible.<em>"

"Obviously it isn't," Preston replied irritably.

The group approached the wreck cautiously, stepping lightly across the grass. It looked like the body of the car had impacted head-on; the bonnet was crumpled, the windshield shattered, the wheels sheared off or completely missing. And, sitting in the driver's seat...

...a man, his head resting against the steering wheel. Deep cuts sliced across his forehead. Blood had slicked his cheeks and stained his shirt.

"Holy shit."

"Oh my god, I know that truck," Joe murmured.

Charles walked forwards with tiny steps. "Guys… is that him?"

"Yeah. It's him," Alice said faintly.

The six of them stood there in a battered, bruised line.

"Who?" Martin asked.

"It is. Yeah, for sure," Preston said.

"Who is it?"

The entire right half of the truck had been torn off, almost like it had been cut down the middle with a saw. Foam spewed out of the seats, and shards of glass coated the ground around it. The man in the driver's seat looked almost… asleep.

Alice stepped closer, strands of hair dangling in front of her face. "Dr Woodward?" she asked softly.

Something clicked inside Martin's head. Ridiculously, he was still wearing his detective's hat. "Dr Woodward, the science guy?"

"Biology," Preston corrected.

Cary nodded. "Honours biology."

"Wow, I'm – I'm not in his class."

"We _know_."

"Just shut up, Cary."

They stared at the car apprehensively. The doctor was a thick, heavyset man, African-American, with dark skin. In life he would've been an imposing figure, with his shaved head and sharp brows. Joe had run into him at school a few times, and apparently he'd been a decent teacher, but the man lying limp before them looked like some kind of nightmare_._ Inhuman.

_A midnight trip, a train crash and now a freaking dead teacher. This is the most unreal-_

"Remember when Old Man Woodward took your Electronic Football?" Charles whispered.

"Yeah. He put it in the dungeon and never gave it back." Cary frowned.

"The dungeon?"

"That trailer Woodward keeps in the school parking lot," Preston explained.

Alice was at the car, now, standing right where the door would be - if it still had one. "Dr Woodward?" She reached out, and touched his hand. It was still warm. "Dr Woodward?"

_Thunk! _Alice recoiled as the hand flopped off the steering wheel and onto the floor. Then, she noticed that a crumpled piece of paper had fallen from the doctor's fingers. She leant forwards cautiously and picked it up.

The others rushed forward as she unfolded the paper. A line was drawn across it in red marker, following a curving, irregular path, annotated with scribble notes: numbers, place names…

"'Map of the Contiguous United States,'" Preston read aloud.

"What's the writing?" Joe asked.

"Dates and times…"

"Guys, what's this line?"

_Following a path... _"It's a schedule for the train," Joe realised. "See, look-"

_Scrick! _Suddenly, horrifyingly, the paper was snatched away by a shadowy hand. A cruel hand, with thick bloody fingers.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"_Holy-_"

In the darkness, Dr Woodward sat up. The cuts on his face glimmered in the firelight.

"What the… He's alive he's alive oh my god oh my god…" Martin babbled incoherently. The others just stared in shock. Then...

"_Who are you_?" their teacher said, in a low, growling whisper. The doctor blinked slowly, turned to face them with wild, red eyes. His nostrils flared.

Joe felt his heart pound.

"...Dr Woodward, it's me," Charles said bravely, clenching his fists. "Charles Kaznyk. From fourth period… You've been in an accident. You're gonna be okay-"

Dr Woodward's left arm twitched and somehow there was a gun in it, a great big black revolver.

"BACK!" Cary screamed.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Charles sobbed. They all stood there, half-crouched, shivering, wondering whether to stay or _get the hell away. _The doctor looked like a lunatic, a monster, a bloody dark-skinned ghost.

"They will kill you," he said with utter conviction. His forehead creased with pain as he tried to lean towards them, straining against his fraying seatbelt, skin covered in sweat. "Do _not _speak of this. Or else..." He coughed. "Or else you… and your parents… will die."

For once Preston didn't have a smartass remark. Joe just stared at the-

Suddenly, distant voices reached their ears. Lots of them, shouting in the night.

"Guys, look," Joe whispered. Flashlights were shining across the other side of the field. They seemed to be moving, getting brighter.

"We shouldn't be here," Alice said fearfully.

And then, suddenly, Dr Woodward's gun was pointed at _them_. "GO!" he roared.

They didn't need much convincing.

* * *

><p>"Come on!" Charles shouted. "Shit, let's get the hell out of here!"<p>

"Hurry, come on!"

They dashed across the grass. Twisted metal blurred past on either side. They dodged past a couple of wrecked carriages, vaulted over an axle. Alice skidded to a stop next to her father's car, realised the others weren't with her. "Guys, come _on_!" she yelled desperately.

Charles was sprinting up the station steps. "Grab the film!" The flashlights were closer, a _lot _closer, bobbing up and down, and Dr Woodward's warning loomed large in their minds.

"Oh my god, oh my god…"

"Holy shit!"

Charles grabbed the camera from where it lay on the wood, miraculously still in one piece, began running back to the car.

"COME ON!" Alice yelled again. "Move your ass! Let's go, let's go!"

"Who's got the bags?"

Joe slid across the gravel and picked up his makeup box, slammed it shut. Up on the platform, Cary was grabbing all the bags he could find, hauling them over his shoulders. The approaching torches flickered in the corner of his eye. Joe looked, and thought he could see _soldiers-_

"Get in the CAR!"

They ran back down the steps and crowded around the Skylark, pulling open the doors, throwing their gear inside with wild desperation. "They're getting closer!" Martin yelled. The doors slammed shut one by one and Alice revved the accelerator, reversing out of the station carpark. The tyres skidded on the dirt. A flaming bit of wood kicked up into the air. They bounced on the seats, fumbling for seatbelts.

Alice grimaced, threw the car into gear. She swung the wheel around and they bounced across the field, faster and faster, slipping past the wreckage, aiming for the trees and the road back home. The windscreen wipers swept back and forth, clearing the window of dust.

"Come on!"

"Go, go!"

* * *

><p>"…Anybody get their plates?"<p>

"I didn't get the plate. Did you get it?"

In the middle of the jumbled, scorching train crash, three dozen soldiers in dark green U.S. Air Force uniforms stared after the fleeing car. They were led by a thick-set man with a craggy face and piercing blue eyes. A floppy colonel's cap sat upon his head, and the name stitched above his left breast pocket was 'Nelec.' The air force men spread out through the crash site, securing the area, looking for any survivors. Beams of torchlight swept across the ruined field.

"Any other survivors?"

"All clear!"

Nelec looked down on the ground by his boots, and saw a battered yellow cardboard box. He picked it up; it was a Kodak film canister.

That was bad. Very bad. He looked out across the field, but the unidentified yellow car had already disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

><p>Alice drove through the night, trying to keep her emotions in check. She gripped the wheel tensely and stared straight ahead. Around her, the boys tried to calm down by yelling at each other, adrenalin still flowing.<p>

Charles: "Holy shit that was _insane_!"

Preston: "He had a gun! An actual physical gun! My heart is _pounding_, that train could've _killed_ us!"

Cary, randomly: "Oh, shit!"

Charles again: "My camera's, like, shattered now…"

Martin, almost crying: "Guys, I have never had a teacher aim a GUN at me-"

Joe tried to wipe some of the grime off his face, and his fingers came off slightly bloody from a cut he didn't even know he had. He was sitting next to Alice and saw her shivering. "Are you okay?" he asked, quietly.

"No." Her voice quivered. "But it's hard enough to drive without everyone yelling!"

_Oh. Right. _Joe turned around. "Guys, keep it down!"

The car sped along the road, past the well-lit windows of the local gas station. Alice kept staring straight ahead, lips moving silently. Charles cradled his camera in his hands. Everyone was still shouting, even more panicked than before.

"'You'll die, your parents will die' – guys, this is not good information!" Preston screamed.

"Oh, shit! The focus ring fell off!"

"No one cares about your stupid camera!"

Martin just moaned. "Guys, am I the only one shaking?... And I'm also _crying_!"

Alice shook her head, trying to make her voice heard above the racket. "We can't tell anyone we were here. My dad can't find out I took his car… do you guys hear me?"

"It's okay," Joe replied. "We're not saying _anything_ to _anyone_."

Alice glanced at him, then back at the road. She didn't seem reassured. Her fingers twitched.

Joe turned to the rest of them. "Guys. We're not saying anything, _are we_." It sounded like a threat.

"No."

"Nope."

"No."

"Nooo…"

"See?" Joe said, facing the front. "No one's gonna know. No one's saying anything."

It was silent for a moment. The car's suspension bounced and squeaked as they drove along; it sounded a whole lot worse than it had on the way to the train depot. Alice glanced in the rear-view mirror, and then, wonderfully, around the next bend, the outskirts of town began to appear out of the forest.

* * *

><p>Alice stopped the car just outside Joe's driveway; his father's police car was still parked there, and the windows of the house were dark and lifeless. No one said anything as they all got out and picked their stuff out of the boot.<p>

The sudden silence felt… weird. Tiredness and aching muscles and _reality_ began to creep in. Joe's mind reeled as he tried to figure out what exactly had happened in the past sixty minutes of his life.

"Joe," Alice said suddenly. She held her hand out the window; in it was one of those strange white cubes, which had fallen out of his pocket.

He took it from her. "Thanks." He leant in closer, but she just stared at him, shaking her head.

"I never should've done this." And with that, she slid back over to the steering wheel and drove off down the street, engine sputtering quietly.

Joe watched her go, holding the white cube to his chest, filled with an undefinable sense of sadness. The others stood behind him, dirty, grimy, haunted, each and every one of them, and followed the car with their eyes as it sped away.


	5. Morning After

_Author's Note: I've been working on an original novel and promised myself I wouldn't write any more fanfiction until I'd finished the first third… but hey, that didn't happen. Basically, 50,000 words in I decided that things weren't working as well as they could and needed a bit of a… re-jiggering. Then university started, and let me tell you, third-year maths lectures are pretty hardcore from day one._

_But of course, that has no relevance to this, and I have this terrible habit of using "Author's Notes" as a personal blog. Have some Super 8 to make up for it!_

* * *

><p><span>Morning After<span>

_Who am I?_

_ I watch TV. I care about my grades, kind of. I play with my dog. I live in a small Midwest town whose only redeeming features are some decent hills and the state's biggest steel mill. __I'm just a simple kid who goes to a boring school with a bunch of uncool friends, who all like making movies more than they like real life. Because…_

_ Because we have dreams, like Charles. Because Preston thinks it's fun. Because it means Martin can actually BE someone. Because Cary will use any excuse to set something on fire. Because otherwise, all you can think about is the stuff that's gone forever._

_ Just normal kids, in a normal town._

_ Except that, two hours ago, you almost got killed in a train crash as an entire field basically exploded. One of your teachers tried to commit suicide and then pointed a loaded gun at you. You escaped in a 'borrowed' car driven by Alice-friggin-Dainard. And now you're turning a mysterious white cube over and over in your hands and wondering what the hell to do._

Joe leant back and felt the water ripple around his shoulders. It was still warm, even though he'd been sitting in the bathtub for a solid twenty minutes, almost motionless. He could feel the edges of the cube with his fingers, the studded, slightly eroded shape; it was heavy, heavier than plastic, but not like metal either. The protrusions on the faces seemed to alternate in size, so maybe they could slot together?...

...But _why, _that was the real question. Why had Dr. Woodward turned his truck onto the tracks? Why had he told them to get away from him? Why had that door been torn off the cargo carriage like there was something inside it… something alive?

Water dripped from his cheeks. Reflections danced on the damp-stained walls. He stretched his legs, scratched an itch on his chest. The water was pretty gross thanks to the layer of dirt he'd scrubbed off, but still, it felt nice. Familiar. Comforting.

He remembered the looks on all their faces – Charles, shocked, like the world was ending, Martin terrified and gibbering, Cary just stupidly excited. Preston looking… betrayed, like that time they'd dumped him into the river last summer because he'd forgotten to bring the sandwiches.

And Alice, uncomprehending, unreal, unshaken.

_Alice. The wife. _ _What _happened _over the winter? Last year I basically ignored her, but now it's like she's—_

_"John, I've never asked you to stop. I've never asked you to give up, or walk away. But I'm asking you now__… Please, for me. Don't go. Don't leave me. I – I need to know this isn't the last time I'm going to see you. I just love you so much."_

Joe took a breath.

_Don't leave me…_

It was amazing. It was like she really _was_ that person, really _did_ love Hathaway, wasn't just a fourteen-year-old girl reading lines in a cheap two-dollar-shop dress. But what if…

_Don't leave me._

What if Alice wasn't just in that one scene? She was so great that they had to put her in more stuff, right? What if she showed up later, helping Hathaway, and maybe even got attacked by-

* * *

><p>Joe padded into his bedroom and flicked on the lights. The makeup box was still sitting on his bed, and he picked it up and shoved it underneath; the locket hung from its usual spot on his desk lamp. Then he pulled open the closet door and reached up to the top shelf, taking down a black plastic case, almost dislodging a bag of loose film reels is the process. He stared at the bag for a moment before stepping back.<p>

_Not tonight._

Suddenly he heard a rustle as his dog, Lucy, trotted into the room and sat on the carpet behind him. She ignored the layer of old clothes and boxes and Atari cables (_just like I do_) and panted happily, tail wagging, head tilted at an inquisitive angle. Her brown-white fur was silky smooth.

"Good girl Lucy. Come on."

Her ears pricked up and she followed him around the other side of the bed. He put the case down and undid the clasps; inside was an old blue typewriter.

Joe snatched a couple of sheets of paper from his desk, plus the torch Charles had given him for his birthday and took the whole lot back into the closet. It was a tight fit with all the clothes, but he managed to squeeze inside. Just. Lucy poked her head in after him and he scratched her behind the ears; then he slid down the wall until he was sitting comfortably and pulled the door shut.

Darkness.

He clicked on the torch and laid it on the floor next to him, then propped the typewriter up on his knees, fingers poised. _EXTERIOR SCENE: Hillside, daytime. Hathaway's wife looks down at the smoking train crash…_

Lucy stared at the closet door with a vaguely puzzled expression as she tried to figure out the faint clacking sounds that were coming from inside.

"Woof!"

* * *

><p>But Lucy was far from the only dog out barking that night. It was like every animal in Lillian, from terriers to Dobermans and everything in between, was worried about… something. A hundred different howls echoed out from sleeping houses, from the dark, forested hillsides, from the tall chimneys of the steel mill and a thousand different streetlights.<p>

Until those streetlights started going out.

If you were looking down from above, you would've seen vast patches of the town suddenly go dark. You would've seen the streetlights flicker and fizzle, and the early morning darkness suddenly take hold.

And, you might've heard something else – not a dog, no, but a strange and sinister… _roar._

* * *

><p>"Joe."<p>

He twitched and opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment. His dad was standing over him, dressed in his navy deputy's uniform, surrounded by far-too-bright sunlight. _Oh man._ He licked his lips and tried to blink the tiredness away.

"Joe, wake up. Make sure you let Lucy out, alright?"

Joe propped himself up and managed an affirmative. His dad was still getting dressed, threading a belt around his waist. "What are you gonna do?" he asked. "Are you going to be with Charles again?"

"Yeah, I'll be with Charles."

"All right, I'm heading in. There's something I gotta deal with. Don't forget to get the yard."

"I won't."

His dad nodded, then turned and strode out. As soon as he was gone, Joe flopped back down onto the blankets with a weary sigh.

* * *

><p><em>Okay. Feed Lucy.<em>

Joe opened a bag of dog food, knelt down next to Lucy's bowl and was utterly delighted when it immediately overflowed.

"Ughhh.._._"

Biscuits scattered across the floor. He began scooping them up in his hands, thinking about the pages he'd written last night and wondering if they were worth getting less than three hours of sleep for. And there had been this weird, irritating _rattling_ noise that had kept him awake after that.

But two minutes later he was racing across the road to Charles' house, a dozen sheets of paper clutched tightly between his fingers.

* * *

><p>Joe could hear the commotion as soon as he came through the door. The two youngest Kaznyks were banging plastic swords against the table as Peggy, the middle child, did her homework next to them with practiced studious ignorance. Mr Kaznyk peered at one of the many post-it notes stuck to the refrigerator doors. Jenny stood at the counter in short denim shorts, almost vibrating with anger as she faced down her mother.<p>

"Mum, come _on_."

"No! You are NOT wearing that. Nobody in this house is wearing that."

"Oh, really? Compared to Debbie's, these are _long_."

"Listen to your mother," Mr Kaznyk said wearily as he swept past with an omelette in hand.

"Wa— so I can't go to Wendy's party OR wear the shorts? Not fair!"

"Jennifer Anne, 'not fair' is Africa."

Mrs Kaznyk took some bacon off the stove and snatched away one of the plastic swords. Jen threw up her hands and stormed off with a parting "Mum's racist!"

"Do we have any more English muffins?" Peggy asked.

"Why don't you get up and _check?_"

"Peg, tell the twins to stop."

"I can't, they don't listen!"

Joe emerged into the dining area as Mr Kaznyk walked past, loosening his tie. "Morning Joe."

"Good morning."

"Hey Joe," Mrs Kaznyk said brightly. "Did you hear about the train crash?"

"…No." He swallowed.

"Check it out. It's on the news."

Joe turned to the TV in the corner, heart beating fast. Charles was already sitting in front of it, staring glumly at the screen.

"…_instead opting to use military personnel, which for this reporter, only _adds_ to the mystery. Of course, we'll have much more on this story as it develops. Coming to you live from Montgomery County, Channel 14 news."_

The news report was showing a shaky camera feed of the crash site, probably taken from a nearby hillside. It seemed to be mostly deserted, but the overturned carriages and burnt wood looked – realer, in the daylight.

Joe trudged forwards and sat down next to his friend.

"Can you believe this?" Charles murmured.

"No."

"It's on the news. That means it's real."

"I know." They kept their voices quiet, though they didn't really have to.

_"Local teacher Thomas Woodward is still being treated by Air Force medical personnel after last night's train derailment. Woodward apparently fell asleep at the wheel of his pickup truck, which was hit by the speeding train. From Chopper 7, you can see how the train split the truck and carried the trailer for three blocks before the first engine derailed."_

Behind them, Charles' younger brother ran his hand through a hunk of dried plasticine. _"This is gross!"_

_ "Well, how about you clean it up? That would be a great help, thanks so much." _

The TV cut to a local reporter who was standing in front of the crash site. Joe stared, fascinated, almost afraid to look away. Then he suddenly remembered the pages in his hands and handed them over to Charles. "Here."

"What's this?" Charles frowned. "Wait, you wrote scenes? You never write scenes." He scanned the first page, puzzled. "...You kept the wife in..."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that too. And I think you're right," Joe said nervously. "She is important."

"You said you didn't _get_ the wife."

"I was _totally_ wrong."

Charles looked worried. "…There're a lot of pages."

_I know. _Joe leant forwards, and tried to explain. "Okay, so what if the detective's wife is leaving town, and she's begging him to be careful, right? And then the train crashes. We can use some footage from last night to do that part. Okay?"

Charles nodded slowly. Joe turned over the first couple of pages, pointed half-way down the paper. "And they're at the scene of the crash, right? And they see someone who's injured, who's turning into a zombie, right? Okay, so the wife gets infected. So, he gets back to the factory—"

He turned another page. Charles was beginning to smile.

"So, he gets back from the factory, look, and then she _kills_ him. The zombie wife kills him." Joe grinned.

"Holy shit, that's mint."

His friend flicked through the pages again, re-reading the lines in more detail. Joe turned back to the TV.

"_…An incredible mystery indeed, especially given all the unanswered questions. What the cargo was on that freighter, we can't tell you at this point, because railroad officials have refused to release the cargo manifest for the derailment, the largest such accident in Ohio's history. The condition of Woodward, who has taught at Lillian Middle School for the past six years…"_

"Looks like a disaster movie, doesn't it?" he murmured under his breath.

Charles was silent.

Then: "Oh my god. Joe, that's _awesome_."

"…What?"

"We can use it," Charles whispered. "We can film it."

Joe did a double-take. "You wanna go _back_?"

"Yeah! That's where we can film your new scenes!"

"Really?"

Charles nodded. "You're a total brain! We gotta go get the camera fixed and the film developed from last night. Wait here, I'm gonna go steal some money from my mom!"

* * *

><p>They rode their bikes down the hillside and onto Lillian's main street, keeping to the wide footpath. The early-morning sunshine was pleasantly warm and Joe could already feel himself beginning to sweat underneath his jeans and light green shirt. On the left was the steel mill – a towering, endless expanse of corrugated iron, scaffolding, and rusting pipelines, surrounded by a thick concrete fence. Cars sputtered by in the other direction. Joe had to pedal furiously to keep up with Charles, standing up over the handlebars. He wasn't quite sure whether to be afraid or excited - but Charles had this light in his eyes. <em>I guess it's excited, then.<em>

_At least we're actually _doing_ something._

"If any of the footage is useable from last night, that means we need Alice to play the wife again," Charles shouted over his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah. I – I thought she was really good."

"Dude, she was _mint_, but she's never gonna do it."

"I think she will."

"There's no way! You heard what she said!"

They swept past a group of overalled workers and under the huge "LILLIAN STEEL CO." sign, into the town proper. Rows of shops suddenly appeared on either side – the red-brick façade of S&A Food, the dingy little windows of Layman's Hobbies, the tiled awnings of the Lillian Pharmacy, the squeaky glass door of Olsen Cameras (_Hi-Fidelity!)._

"Well, that was before the new scenes, right?" Joe said hopefully.

"You honestly think she cares about the scenes? She was totally wigged."

"Yeah, she was. We _all_ were." _And look where we are now._

* * *

><p>Olsen's Cameras was a brown-and-beige wonderland of glinting lenses and that acidy film smell. Cameras of all shapes and sizes stood in glass cases, next to shelves of audio equipment and movie projectors. Boxes of Kodak were heaped up beneath a couple of green neon signs.<p>

"Lens is cracked. Focus ring broke," Charles said miserably. "You think it's fixable?"

The man behind the counter turned the camera towards him, peered dully into the lens. He had shoulder-length brown hair plus a short beard and 'stache, and wore an open-necked patchwork shirt. "I think it's cheaper to buy a new one," he said eventually.

Charles sighed and turned away. "Donny says the camera's busted, man. It's over."

Joe stood at the back of the store, holding a phone up to his ear. _"_We can use my dad's camera," he began. "It's got some—"

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the receiver. Alice's voice. _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Alice. It's, uh – it's Joe Lamb." He gripped the plastic tightly.

_"Hi."_

"Uh, so we have some new scenes for the movie and Charles and I were hoping you'd be in them."

_"Oh."_ There was silence for a moment. _"No. No, I'm done with that_." Her voice crackled.

Across the room, Charles laid his broken Super 8 down on the counter, then opened a compartment in the side. He pulled out the battered black film casing and handed it over. "I need this film developed as soon as possible. Can you do it overnight?"

Donny stared at him with an I-can't-believe-you look. "Asshole, _no one_ can do overnight." He paused casually. "You wanna buy some pot?"

"…No. No thank you." Charles stepped back a little. "Well, what's the fastest you can do?"

Donny sighed. "I can make it a rush. You'll get your film back in – three days. Hey, what's your sister up to? The hot one, not the other one."

"I… I don't know…"

_"I'm watching the crash on the news,"_ Alice was murmuring.

"Yeah, I saw it. It was—"

"_I should go."_

"Wait. Hold on," Joe said quickly. _Please. _"Let me come over and I'll bring the scenes…"

"_No, no."_

"I'll be right there. It's a good idea."

_"Don't. Don't come—"_

* * *

><p>Alice stood in the doorway with a faintly pissed-off expression. Joe stood on the veranda, clutching the script like a talisman. He noticed that she was wearing dark red lipstick.<p>

"I don't care what Charles wants. I said no on the phone."

"You totally did. I know that's true, but—"

"But now you're at my house."

Joe winced. "...I am, which—"

"I don't understand how you guys can keep working on that stupid movie."

He had to look away under that accusing glare. _How can I even begin to explain?_

Alice's house was on the outskirts of town, two-stories and slightly decrepit-looking. The garden was all overgrown, with old bikes and tools piled up around the side, and the fake columns out front were chipped and dirty. A steam whistle blew in the distance, startling a couple of the children who were playing in the next yard down.

Then, suddenly, there was a squeak of brakes as a car pulled up out front. Alice's eyes flicked over to the new arrival.

"You should go," she said.

Joe looked over his shoulder.

It was yellow Mustang they'd driven last night, black stripes running down the bonnet, looking a little worse for wear. The same yellow Mustang he'd seen at his mother's wake.

After a moment a man stepped out in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, tall and muscular, with scruffy blonde hair that looked almost exactly like Alice's. He slammed the door shut, paused suddenly as he took in the scene.

"What's this?" he asked warily.

"He was just inviting me to a party," Alice said quickly.

"Yeah?"

He loped across the yard and up onto the veranda, stopped next to them, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"Good morning Mr. Dainard—" Joe began.

"She's not going to your party."

"Yes sir." He swallowed. That tone didn't exactly allow any questions.

Mr. Dainard took off the glasses slowly, casually, and glanced at his daughter. Then he pushed past and stepped into the house, letting the door bounce shut behind him.

Alice let out a breath—

_Bang. _Joe twitched as the door suddenly burst open. Mr. Dainard stepped towards him, leant in close, all lanky muscle and breathless threats. All Joe could see in that moment were his eyes, which had this _look_ in them that was…

"You. Get out of here. You go home, and you DON'T come back here. I don't want to see you."

The door clattered shut.

_"Ally, come inside."_

Alice turned without a word and stepped into the house.

Silence.

Joe looked down, clenched his teeth, stood alone under the unbroken blue sky. Crickets chirped in the summer heat. The straps of his backpack dug into his shoulders.

_Well that failed, didn't it. No more movie, no more Alice, no more… anything._

But then…

Joe stared with wide eyes as a face appeared in the doorway. It pressed up against the flyscreen, like a ghost in a denim skirt and a wave of blonde hair.

"I'll do it," she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

"…What?"

"I'll do it."


	6. The Air Force

_Semi-Relevant Author's Note: I've realised that nowadays I pay much more attention to flow in my writing – making sure each chapter and paragraph and sentence flows nicely into the next, and the words on the page accurately reflect the 'feel' of the scene. For example, when Alice's dad arrives in the last chapter I spent ages trying different sentences to get the right pace and emotions across, while still describing what's actually happening with the setting and the characters. You can be the judge of how well that worked – and I'm still not _completely_ happy with that sequence – but it's quite a challenge when you're directly adapting something like a movie, which jumps around a lot more than a book would._

_Another writerly thing I've figured out that it's very easy to front-load exposition; when you're writing one chapter every few weeks, it's really hard to gauge how that stuff (Joe's relationship with his dad, his thoughts about Alice, etc) will balance across the finished story. Sometimes it's better to only hint at things, at least early on, or not reveal them at all. But I guess that's what editing is for._

_And one final note: If you actually like this story - or even if you don't like it - why not write a review? I guess it's of limited use since, well, you all know how the story goes... but I could use a bit of constructive criticism now and then :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Air Force<span>

The creature staggered up the grassy hillside with slow, jerking steps. It had bone-white eyes and bloody teeth, and thirsted for human flesh.

Detective Hathaway raised his gun with a clinical sense of calm.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"AaaAARRGGHHhheerrr!"

The gun fired as the camera whirred. The zombie screamed and fell to its knees, clutching a bloody chest. Hathaway fired once more, the shot echoing out across the field, and the zombie thudded face down into the grass.

Hathaway glanced at his wife, who stood beside him determinedly – two figures beneath a steel grey sky.

Silence for a moment.

"Cut!" Charles smiled and pulled off his headphones. "That was _mint. _Oh my god, with the train? _So good_."

He stepped forwards, taking in the scene. Martin and Alice relaxed in costume as Joe stopped the camera and Preston set the mike down. Their bikes and backpacks were scattered haphazardly through in the tall grass. Martin wore his brown jacket and hat, while Alice had her long beige trenchcoat.

"Joe, reload the cap-gun," Charles continued.

"Okay."

"We'll shoot another angle next." He turned to the actors. "Alice, that was mint. Martin, go a little faster next time."

"I'll try Charles but I'm still… _crying_ about last night, man. I feel like I'm crazy." Martin trailed off, shifting from one foot to another. He took another glance over his shoulder…

…where, at the bottom of the hill, behind a line of trees, there were the jumbled remains of last night's crash. Burnt and blackened carriages were strewn across the valley in a wide circle of chewed-up dirt. A line of zig-zagging traincars stretched into the distance behind, halted before they could fully derail. Splintered wood and metal glinted in the weak sunlight. Exploded fuel tanks and cargo compartments lay on top of each other at crazy angles. It still looked terribly unreal – a quarter-mile scar of destruction that had no place in their quiet corner of the world.

Cary leapt up and took the ping-pong balls off his eyes. His hands and shirt were covered in fake blood. "Guys, did it really look good? My death?"

"Dude, it looked awesome," Charles reassured him.

"It was magic."

Joe unzipped Cary's backpack and began digging around for another set of caps. The hillside above the crash site was proving to be an excellent filming spot – quiet, open, and with a great view (though it had taken a bit of effort to get there). In this scene, Detective Hathaway was discussing last night's train crash with his wife when they were suddenly attacked by a zombie, and it felt more than a little weird that the movie was now reflecting real life. His fingers touched something plastic – _got 'em _– and he stood up, shivering slightly in the cloudy chill.

As he looked around for the gun he noticed Alice standing silently in the grass, staring towards the crash site. Her skin was pale, almost like it was frozen.

So he walked up, stopped beside her, and tried to think of something to say—

"What do you think happened?" she asked quietly.

Joe turned to face her. "You mean why he crashed the train?"

"No, I…" She shook her head glumly. "I've just got a horrible feeling."

Joe paused. _She looks worried, like she's trying to figure something out, and all I can think about is how weird this all seems. _He tried to remember the panic they'd all felt last night, but it was seemed oddly distant. The scene looked different in the daylight; maybe it was the colour, or the scale, or the angle. But one thing he did remember were the torches in the night, the ones that had chased them away from the crash in a rush of dust and smoke. _I wonder…_

Suddenly, he turned and started walking towards the camera. Charles was currently fiddling with the lens but he picked it up anyway, tripod and all.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Joe ignored him and tore out the headphone jacks, then placed the camera down in the grass next to Alice. _It's my dad's camera anyway, since Charles got his broken. _He leant in to the eyepiece and zoomed in, focusing on the wrecked train.

Preston and Martin looked at him weirdly for a moment but soon began to stare at the crash too. The six of them stood in a line upon the hillside – except for Charles, who just folded his arms in annoyance.

Looking closer, the field was now buzzing with activity. A news chopper circled above the haze of smoke that still surrounded the area, its rotors thudding at the edge of their hearing, and couple of bright red semitrailers had parked right up close to the wreckage. A flock of swallows flitted between jeeps and army-green firefighting trucks… _and people. Can't really make them out at this distance, but there's definitely people poking around down there. __And— huh. That's weird. _

Joe frowned. "That whole thing's an Air Force train," he murmured.

"…What?"

* * *

><p>They sat around a table in the diner, three to a side, by the front window, surrounded by chips and hamburgers and glasses of cold coke. The place was pretty quiet this late in the afternoon, and a couple of waitresses in bright yellow dresses attended the few occupied tables. The whole diner had a dim lived-in look that Joe liked – <em>plus, the food's cheap.<em>

"I make models – like, plastic ones," Joe explained. "You know, glue 'em, paint 'em, stuff like that—"

Preston sighed. "_And_ he's not embarrassed by that."

"Look who's talking, Math Camp!" Cary retorted.

A waitress sidled over in and dropped off a plate of chips in front of Charles.

"Thanks. Could I have a coffee please, cream on the side?"

"Sure."

Cary smirked. "He's so sophisticated."

"Shut up, I like coffee."

"_No one_ likes coffee."

Alice smiled as they bickered with each other, glancing from face to face. Joe leaned forwards. "Air Force trains, even the models, have these hooks—"

"Ooh, they do!" Preston's face was alight. "For when the trains are loaded on the transport ships!"

"—and every car in that crash had hooks—"

"Joe, would you stop talking about it, all right?" Charles interrupted.

"Wait, guys. Am I the only one who doesn't understand what any of this means?" Martin asked.

"Probably, Smartin."

"Cary, shut up."

"You shut up."

"I don't like it when you call me that."

"I'm sorry Smartin. Let's just go cry about it."

"No! I don't want to!"

"...Dr Woodward had that map," Joe began, still thinking. "He _drove_ onto the train tracks. Maybe, there was something that he wanted to—"

"To destroy, yeah!" Preston and Martin nodded in unison.

Charles shook his head. "My God, will you guys just shut up?"

"Maybe he was just sick of being old and wanted to kill himself," Cary suggested.

"That's a dumb idea."

Joe shrugged. "He had a gun. Why not use that?"

"There _are_ infinitely more effective ways to commit suicide," Preston said matter-of-factly. "Pills, hanging…

"Hey! Pussy! Stop taking the fries away!" Cary glared across the table.

"I ordered these for a _reason_," Charles shot back.

Cary just rolled his eyes. "Excuse me. Could we get another order of fries? Because my friend here is _fat_."

"Funny, chompers. At least I don't have to use a booster seat." Charles made a show of swallowing another couple of chips as Cary grinned at him, braces sparkling.

"…You could jump from a building," Preston continued.

"Or fall down some stairs," Martin added.

"Well, that's not really effective."

"Isn't it?"

Then, suddenly, Alice spoke up. "If it's the Air Force – what would the Air Force have on the train?"

"Jesus, shut _up_ about it!" Charles hissed. "You heard what Old Man Woodward said, we _can't_ talk about this." He looked around the table, and everyone was quiet. That image of Dr Woodward was hard to forget – bloodied, battered, pointing the gun. "Joe, seriously. Do you really wanna take a chance that something could happen to your dad, too?"

Joe didn't answer, and settled for picking at the tablecloth. _My dad? Why bring _him_ into this?_

* * *

><p>Jack Lamb couldn't help but feel that something was very, very wrong here. No – it had felt like <em>everything<em> was wrong, ever since he'd arrived.

First, that call had come in about the smoke in the hills; then people had started buzzing about some sort of insane train crash. Of course, he'd had to go and check it out, so he'd driven his patrol car down to the old train station and suddenly found himself in a damned smoking warzone. As soon as he stepped out he'd been immediately surrounded by a dozen air force guards, _s__erious-looking air force,_ who had gently but firmly taken him into a supply tent and told him to wait for more information.

A whole bunch of wrongness.

And as he emerged from the supply tent and into the afternoon sunlight, that feeling only got worse. The Air Force Colonel - 'Nelec' - that'd eventually agreed to talk to him had this air of calm superiority, like _yes, I'll answer your questions, but I have far better things to be doing._

"This is all anyone's been talking about," Jack said insistently. "People want to know what the deal is."

Nelec brushed him off and strode ahead. He was a thick-set man with a craggy face and ginger hair, and eyes hidden beneath heavy brows. Like all the other men swarming around the train wreckage he wore an olive green air force uniform, and a colonel's cap upon his head. "Yes, Deputy, I'm told this crash has caused a whole mess of confusion."

"Well, as you can expect the local authorities are trying to figure out just what happened, as well as how to help you here." Jack half-ran to catch up.

"It's all under control. It'll be a very fast cleanup."

"Colonel, there isn't anything that I should know, is there?"

"Not that I can think of, Deputy."

They walked through the dirt, past barrels and tree branches and twisted axles. At least a hundred personnel were sifting through the wrecked carriages or running around with purposeful looks on their faces. Jack tried to forget the pure absurdity of what he was seeing – _how the _hell_ does a train end up like this? _– and focus on getting answers.

"I understand you have concerns about our cargo," Nelec said calmly.

"Well, I'd like to see that manifest, yes."

"That's not gonna be possible."

Jack felt a flash of anger. "Colonel, I've got a lotta people in my town that are gonna wanna know what's taking place," he said, as forcefully as he could.

For the first time, the air force man turned to face him. Jack put his hands on his hips and squinted into the sunlight.

"Which town is that?"

_Oh, you bastard._ "Lillian."

"Deputy, if you're asking me if we had any dangerous property on board this train" – he leant in close, with that same even tone – "I can assure you the answer in 'No'_._ Excuse me."

And with that, Nelec left him standing alone in the debris. Jack sighed and looked around. _Of course, they're military. Did you actually _expect _them to tell you anything? _

_ But damn, if this isn't the strangest thing I've ever seen. _There were carriages that had been thrown up to two hundred yards from the rails; scorchmarks as far as they eye could see. Right there, just in front of him, a half-melted fuel tanker had barrelled through the dirt like a missile from God, surrounded by a metre-deep crater of glassed sand and shrapnel. _What happened? How did the air force turn up so quickly? Why in _Lillian_, of all places?_

_ I _really_ want to know what's going on here._

As he watched, men would bring hundreds of small white cubes to a set of long tables, where other men dusted them off with thick gloves and paintbrushes. Then they'd be handed off to someone else, with some kind of – Geiger counter, or something, and then placed into these huge wooden crates absolutely _filled_ with the things. Green crates, with 'USAF' spray-painted on the sides.

_"All right, easy, easy!"_

_ "It's loaded. Move out."_

_ "Yes sir!"_

Then the crates would be lifted into one of the half-dozen red semitrailers scattered around the crash site. One of the trucks was leaving now, engine growling, featureless except for a trio of white dots painted upon the trailer. Jack watched it go, feeling a little conspicuous in his navy-blue police uniform (and slightly angry that no one was paying attention to the badge on his chest). _But of course, they're military._

Over by the shattered remnants of the station – and Jack recalled that it had been a pretty damn sturdy train station – two air force men were kneeling in the dirt. One was holding a bucket of plaster, while the other cleaned off some sort of rectangular cast. A groove ran through the dirt by their feet. Jack frowned.

_Huh. They're making casts of tire tracks._

_ …And why would they be doing that?_

* * *

><p>Phones were ringing off the hook in the Lillian Police Station as the clock ticked past five, and the pinup-boards upon the walls were covered in the day's work. Every desk in the slightly gloomy main office was littered with papers. Officers strode around the room carrying folders and old cups of coffee. As he'd driven back from the crash site Jack had grown more and more annoyed with the air force's reticence, and had decided to get the Sheriff onto it. <em>Maybe he can get something out of them.<em>

It wasn't working. "They gave me the runaround for two hours before they allowed me to talk to anyone," he said irritably. "I got there and apparently everyone was too _busy_ to talk to the local deputy."

"I'd say they've had their hands full, Jack," Sheriff Pruitt replied. He dragged a folder across his desk and shoved it into his bag.

"Nelec, the Colonel, refused to show me the manifest. He told me they're carrying mostly airplane parts. I don't buy that."

The Sheriff looked at him funnily. "It's Air Force, Jack – airplane parts sorta makes sense." He packed another folder, stood up, began walking over to another office.

"Sheriff, I'm telling you, there's something else goin' on," Jack insisted. "They're, they're taking molds of _tire tracks_. Why would they be doing that? Who would they be looking for? And – and they're packaging these weird little cubes into these crates—"

"Weird little cubes," the Sheriff repeated. He didn't sound convinced.

"Yeah, they're loadin' 'em onto these red trucks. There're _dozens_ of 'em. Sheriff, I think you need to go check it out."

"And I think you need to take a break."

Pruitt turned to face him with slightly sad eyes. Jack just stood there, jaw clenched. Around them, officers packed up their gear and got ready for home.

"Jack, I've been telling you since Elizabeth," Pruitt said gently. "You're a good deputy, but you need to take a vacation. Go home. Take off the uniform, go fishin'." He smiled. "Give your son a hug."

The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder and walked off. Jack watched him go, and let out a single frustrated sigh.

* * *

><p>The police car pulled into the yard of Kelvin Gasoline, and squeaked to a stop next to one of the two available pumps. Above, the sky was dark, and the pumps lay in the glow of a pair of bright streetlights. The wide glass frontage of the gas station beckoned from across the yard, beneath a blue tin roof and the word 'KELVIN' in glowing yellow letters.<p>

The car was a Ford Crown Victoria, with clean black-and-white bodywork and sirens gleaming on the roof, and Sherriff Pruitt climbed out with a sigh. He was getting old, these days, with a badly-receding hairline and a flabby neck, and a stomach that had seen a few too many doughnuts over the past couple of years.

He'd been a good policeman though. He'd been a good policeman for most of his life, really, and Sherriff for the past decade. In a couple more years he could retire – stay at home with the wife, finish the boat, visit the kids more than once a year. _Or argue with the wife, argue with the kids, forget the boat, and just laze around getting fat._

He snorted, and tried to remember how he'd become so old.

But enough of that. Right now, there was a huge blooming train crash to worry about, and a woman who would be _very_ angry if he was late again for dinner.

So he shut the car door and trudged across the asphalt to the gas station. Inside, it was the same as always – bright fluorescent lights, shelves stocked with chips and chocolate and novelty keychains, the same guy behind the counter. Breen, his name was, with slicked-back hair and headphones jammed into his ears. He was looking down and bopping his head a little, lost in his own world.

"Breen, I'm not sure Edie's payin' you to listen to the radio," Pruitt called out. He grabbed a couple of candy bars from a box and saw that the kid still hadn't noticed him, so he tossed a Snickers at his head. "Breen!"

Breen jumped and whirled around, pulled off the headphones. He smiled awkwardly when he saw who it was. "Hey Sheriff."

Pruitt walked up to the counter and gestured at the headphones. "What's that?"

"Walkman. It's like a stereo. Play your own cassette tapes. You wanna try it?"

"...I don't think so. Kids walkin' around with their own stereos, just what we need," Pruitt replied. He winked and laid a few bills on the counter. "It's a slippery slope, my friend."

"Yes sir."

The Sheriff walked back to the car, smiling to himself. Breen was a good kid; a little dim, maybe, but a good worker. And honest. _Better than most kids these days. _Pruitt bent down and popped the fuel cap, then took one of the pumps and began filling up the tank.

The pump _dinged_ softly with every gallon. Pruitt leant against the bonnet and unwrapped one of his chocolate bars, watching the numbers tick up.

It was a warm night – as you'd expect, at the start of summer – and almost perfectly still, no wind to speak of. Quiet, too. Usually you'd hear crickets chirping, or the leaves rustling, or someone working late in the service shed behind the gas station. But… nothing.

In fact, it was _too_ quiet.

Pruitt stood up and walked a couple of steps towards the road. He looked around, hands on his hips; the whole station was surrounded by a thick wall of trees and bushes, just vaguely visible in the darkness. The pump dinged. A couple of stars twinkled up above, most of them hidden by cloud.

Something felt wrong. The younger officers would laugh to hear him say it, but after this long on the force, you sometimes had this… _sense_ that something was about to happen. Something bad.

Suddenly, he heard dogs barking, a couple of them all at once. He whirled around and saw—

A pack of them, five, maybe six, come racing out of the darkness to his left. They sprinted across the gravel – a terrier, a Labrador, a Dalmatian – and came running straight towards him.

_ Woof woof! Woof! Woof!_

Pruitt stumbled and spun as the dogs scampered past, a couple on either side. They ignored him completely, still barking madly, then disappeared into the trees on the other side of the gas station. He blinked.

_What the hell?_

Pruitt took a few steps after them, fingers resting on the butt of his pistol. The dogs had looked like they were following the road, maybe. The road out of town. He glanced back to where the dogs had come from. They definitely hadn't been wild, but it hadn't looked like they were from the same house, either. _Well, maybe a loud noise scared 'em off. Wouldn't be the first time a dog ran off for no reason._

_ Wouldn't be the first time I've had to chase 'em down, either._

Then the sirens on his police car flared to life, flashing red and blue. The Sheriff jumped. He half-ran over to the driver's side window and jumped again as the car's radio began squawking wildly, broadcasting some unintelligible, static-filled chatter.

_"Alert… Code One-Thr… All as normal…"_

_ "Kkkkkrrrghghh… Roger. Station is… Click…"_

Pruitt reached inside the car and turned off the radio, and the siren. He frowned, scanned the switches on the dash. In the back of his mind he noticed that the petrol pump was dinging faster.

And in the front of his mind, something rustled up ahead. Like footsteps on leaves. Pruitt ducked out of the car and squinted into the bushes across the road, tried to make out something in the shadows—

Then another rustle, behind him, louder. He turned around. It had come from the behind the service shed, from within the trees, but nothing he could see was moving. Just… darkness. Leaves and darkness.

The whole world seemed to be going crazy. He glanced back at the well-lit windows of the gas station, just to reassure himself that it was still there, but the pump was speeding up and slowing down like a mad drunk driver. _Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding… ding-ding-ding-ding-ding…_

Pruitt began walking towards the trees, shivering slightly. He took a couple of deep breaths and felt the comforting weight of his pistol. It was probably a wild animal or something; they'd had reports of bear attacks before, and the beasts were growing bolder every year. Especially around mating season.

Yes, that was it. It was probably a bear. If he could just get a good look at it, he could put out a warning and be on his way home.

_Ding… ding…_

_ CRASH!_

A rubbish skip came cannoning across the yard from around the side of the service shed. Metal screeched as it skidded across the gravel, spinning and crackling impossibly loud, as if it had been fired by a gun. The Sherriff recoiled and staggered back. Thrown gravel stung his face. The skid slid to a stop a second later in a cloud of choking dust, leaving... only silence.

And fear, as Sheriff Pruitt stared at the darkness. _That shouldn't happen. That should. Not. Happen. _He looked on with wide eyes as the dust cleared, heart beating fast, and put both hands on his gun.

* * *

><p>'<em>Once I had a love, and it was gas,<em>

_Soon turned out, had a heart of glass…_

_Seemed like the real thing, only to fiii-ii-ind,_

_Much of mistrust, love's gone behind…'_

Breen stood casually behind the gas station counter, eyes closed, nodding along to the Blondie song that blared from his headphones. Inside, it was bright, and warm, and perfectly still.

Outside, Sheriff Pruitt's police car bounced half a metre into the air as something slammed into its bonnet. A brief cloud of sparks scraped across the undercarriage. Shards of glass erupted from shattered windows.

The car shuddered again, suspension screeching. Smoke began to pour out from beneath the wheels.

Perfectly still.

_'Once I had a love, and it was divine,_

_ Soon found out, I was losing my mind…_

_ It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blii-ii-ind,_

_ Much of mistrust, love's gone behind…'_

The lights in the gas station suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness. They came back on a moment later.

Breen blinked and looked up. Then he turned around, and his eyes widened as he saw the scene outside.

The lights flickered out again. And kept flickering, on, off, on off, buzzing with electricity. Breen pulled off his headphones and walked to the door. He stepped outside, clutching his Walkman, staring all the while.

"…Sheriff?" he asked nervously.

The car's two front wheels were splayed out to the side, torn off the axles by some huge force – the same force that had punched a huge, two-metre dent into the bonnet. The engine had been completely crushed, and the surrounding bodywork was twisted and crumpled. Steam poured from the radiator.

Oddly enough, the back of the car was almost undamaged. But the front, well, the front looked like it had been attacked by a wrecking ball.

"…Sheriff?" Breen walked slowly around the car, still unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His boots crunched on glass shards and scattered engine parts. He made himself look in through the window, but there was no one inside.

The Sheriff, in fact, was nowhere to be seen.

The pump nozzle had fallen out of the tank, and spewed a couple of gallons of fuel out onto the ground that rippled in the darkness. Breen picked up the nozzle cautiously and stared into the surrounding forest.

He was about to call out again when he heard a noise behind him – some kind of high, whistling rattle. Breen whirled around, and saw…

It.

A shrieking roar, burned into his brain.

Breen turned and ran, almost tripping over his own feet, pushing himself up and sprinting towards the safety of the gas station. He screamed in pure fear (probably for the first time in his life), stumbled through the door, running away, away from _that_—

_CRACK! _The entire face of the gas station exploded inward. Breen was thrown to the floor, yelled in panic as he was consumed by a spray of shattering glass. The Walkman fell from his hands and skidded across the tiles. His heart almost burst as something grabbed his legs. He clutched at the nearest shelf and held on for dear life, still screaming, feeling his fingers slipping with every passing second. The lights flickered. An unspeakable sensation. Gigantic limbs thrashed in the enclosed space, tearing chunks from walls and toppling cupboards and throwing boxes into the air.

And then… his fingers let go.

Just a shadow.

Another terrifying roar echoed through the night as, out front, the gas station's sign spun gently in the darkness, just like it always had.


	7. Monsters in the Dark

_Author's Note: Exams are done for the semester (I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL, MATH3341!), so that means I can dismantle my study cave and start living like a normal human being again. Also, story updating time! Hooray!_

_I've been thinking about whether I should start deviating a little from the movie, in terms of making scenes longer, or maybe adding some new scenes here and there; the movie often cuts between places very rapidly, giving just a couple of lines to each character, and while that works great on film it feels kind of 'choppy' written down. And at the moment I'm spending more words on scene set-up than anything else, thanks to my somewhat obsessive descriptive tendencies._

_I've decided to wait before adding anything too significant though – I don't have the best track record for finishing stories in the first place, and there's always that whole 'extend into a sequel' thing I put in the story description…_

* * *

><p><span>Monsters in the Dark<span>

Eventually, a new day began to spread itself over the town of Lillian – slowly, uncertainly, like the sun had decided it didn't really want to get up that morning but had turned up for work anyway. Dim pink light peeked through the clouds, illuminating the thickly-forested hills, the smoky, blackened steel mill, the hundreds of multi-coloured rooves and gridded streets.

But summer holidays were great for early mornings, and the well-oiled machine of Charles Kaznyk Productions didn't have _time_ to wait around for the sun. As their director was all too fond of reminding them, the movie festival submission deadline was creeping closer every day. _Neither snow nor rain nor mysterious near-death experiences will stay us from our duty…_

So they'd all gathered at Charles' house at 7AM sharp, in preparation to shoot the scene that would end the movie; it was one of the scenes that Joe had added in a couple of nights ago (though Preston had rewritten bits of it while muttering something about 'emotional climaxes'). In fact, Preston was still looking at it now, huddled together with Martin on the living room couch and squinting at crumpled copy of the script.

"You know, in scene, um… where is it." Martin turned a page. "Here, look. You know the bit when I pull out the gun?"

"M-hm?"

"I don't think that should happen. Hathaway's not the kind of guy who would do that."

"You sure? I think it builds the suspense better. Like you don't know what's going to happen. Then you think you do. And then you don't."

"Yeah, but…"

Cary and Charles stood next to a pair of rickety spotlights, setting up a shot in the far corner; from this distance, Cary looked to be a full head shorter and about half the size of his friend. Wires trailed across the floor, winding between piles of clothes and discarded toys. The Kaznyk household was oddly quiet; most of them didn't seem to be awake yet, apart from Charles' younger brother who was sitting quietly by the TV.

Over by the kitchen bench, Alice stared at her reflection in a small compact mirror. Thick smears of mascara encircled her eyes, looking like deep, dark bruises. Smooth black patches swept across her nose and across each cheek. A couple of veins were outlined upon her forehead. More mascara ran through her eyebrows, standing out against her pale skin and the bloody-red corn syrup smudged across her mouth.

She had to smile at the image. That face was sunken, ghoulish, barely recognisable; _zombie-like, perhaps. _"Where'd you learn to do this?" she asked wonderingly.

"Mostly the _Dick Smith Monster Make-up Handbook_," Joe replied, half-proud half-embarrassed.

Across the room, Charles and Cary were having some kind of whispered discussion. After a few more nods and enthusiastic hand gestures, they finished setting up the camera and walked over to where Joe was standing.

"Hey, Joe. We need some more footage of the train crash," Charles began. "Obviously." He was grinning like an idiot, and Cary had unleashed his puppy-dog eyes. "You know that train model you just made?—"

"Your – your cargo train," Cary added eagerly.

"—I wanna blow it up and film it."

"Lemme blow it up."

Joe paused. "Um… Yeah. Sure."

"Mint!"

"_Gnarly. _Yes!"

They high-fived each other and bounced back over to the set. Joe turned back to his toolbox, and noticed Alice looking at him concernedly.

"It's fine. They can blow it up. I don't care." He shrugged.

Alice nodded faintly.

Joe began packing up the lipstick and stencils and mascara, chucking them haphazardly into his toolbox. An image of a dry grey paintbrush flashed through his mind and he suppressed a sudden surge of disappointment. _But what else was it going to do? Just sit in your room all day, paint fading, gathering dust?…_

Alice was still looking at him.

"You want to see it?" he asked suddenly. "The train? My train model? The train I made?"

Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the lights flickered. On-off, on-off.

"Whoa!"

"What the hell?"

"Dude, that's bitching. That's like the third time it's happened."

They all stopped for a moment, looking around puzzled as the room flashed bright and dark – but a couple of seconds later, the power went back to normal. Charles resumed his scene set-up. Preston underlined something in the script. Alice slid off her stool and stood in front of Joe.

"So – how am I supposed to be a zombie?"

"Oh. Um…" Joe grinned a little. "Pretty much just be a lifeless ghoul, with no soul. Dead eyes. Scary." _Obviously. _"Did you ever have Mrs. Mullin?"

"For English? Yeah." Alice smiled in recognition.

"Well, kind of like her, but hungry for human flesh – like she wants to turn someone into a zombie. 'Cause that's kind of what zombies do."

"…Okay." She tilted her head sideways a little and started twitching, swaying from side to side. Then her eyes locked onto his – dull, lifeless, hungry and blue, staring out from sunken cheekbones. Breath rasped through half-open lips.

"Oh my god, yeah. That's really good."

Alice began shuffling forwards in her flowery orange dress. She tilted her head the other way but kept her eyes straight ahead, arms half-raised in a zombie's embrace, closer and closer. A soft snarl escaped from bared teeth. Joe kept standing there with a half-smile, unsure of what to do.

And then, when she was almost _uncomfortably_ close – she grabbed him lightly and pretended to bite his neck.

_Holy shi— _Joe jumped as cold lips touched his skin. Alice backed off in a fit of giggles. "Not bad," he said breathlessly, trying to get his heart under control.

"Really?" Her face beamed.

"Really. Haha."

Alice grinned and walked off the bathroom. Joe turned away, and felt the smudge of blood-red lipstick that was burning on his neck. _Woah… well, that just happened._

He didn't notice Charles looking at him with slightly wounded eyes.

* * *

><p>The gas station was ruined. Absolutely <em>ruined<em>. As Jack Lamb walked through the wreckage, his boots crunched through a foot-deep layer of crumpled boxes and toppled shelves, shattered glass and splintered tiles, squashed chip-packets and biscuit wrappers and candy bars. The walls were covered in thick, dark scratches; the entire front side was just twisted metal. There were a couple of intact cupboards on the far wall and behind the counter, but that was it. The rest was history.

_What did this? What _could_ do this? It almost looks worse than the train. Hell, who knows – maybe the air force'll come and take over this place too._

_ Hope the insurance was good._

Edie Kelvin, the gas station's owner, was a blonde, weathered woman in her late fifties, famous around town for her ability to stay single. She'd called him in half an hour ago and now stood out front with a helpless expression, still not quite sure what she could do. Beside her was old Mr. Blakely, dressed in his cap and jacket, who'd apparently been the first to come across the damage earlier that morning.

"Security cameras showed nothing. Someone had erased the videotape," Edie said flatly. "The register was full, though."

"I came by just a little while ago and I – I found it just like this," Mr. Blakely added. "I think this is most likely a, a _bear_ attack."

Jack ignored him, still gazing at the devastation. "You haven't had any troubles with Breen, have you?"

"Oh hell no, that boy is a good egg," Edie insisted. "I pay him well, he does good work." She leant her arm against a propped-up beam which immediately clattered to the floor.

"For gosh sakes Edie, be careful!" Blakely muttered.

Edie closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Jack knelt down in the middle of the room where the layer of wreckage had sagged a little. There seemed to be some sort of fissure in the actual floor; he brushed aside a couple of tiles and uncovered a dark hole that arrowed straight through the building's foundation, into the earth below. It looked deep, though you'd have to shift some rubble to get at the rest of it.

He stood up again, looked around. Some dangling scraps of roof insulation brushed his head. Torn water and electrical cables sprouted from the roof. Crickets buzzed and birds tweeted in the summery forest warmth, audible through the shattered windows.

"Where's the gun?"

* * *

><p>Jack stepped through the destroyed façade and out into the sunlight. Debris was scattered all over the asphalt too, thrown around by… something. There seemed to be a couple of small bloodstains on the ground but definitely no bodies. <em>I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Good, for now.<em>

"Careful! There was a gas spill," Edie called after him. "I… don't even know how much fuel I lost."

Mr. Blakely followed, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "You don't seem to be asking very many questions—" he began.

"Shh! Give the man some _time_, Mr. Blakely," Edie whispered.

"He's only a Deputy – he's not the Sheriff."

"Shh! Doesn't matter!"

Jack leant down to where the gun lay on the bitumen. It was a plain black service revolver, lying all on its own just in front of the petrol pumps.

_No, I'm not asking many questions, because right now no one knows the answers. But…I think I know who that gun belongs to. _He ran a finger over the grip, and picked up a piece of blue glass that lay on the ground beside it. It was quite thick and gently curved; Jack could imagine it covering a patrol car siren.

He unhooked his police radio from his belt and held it up to his mouth. "Vicky, you heard from Sheriff Pruitt this morning?"

_"…Negative,"_ was the crackling reply. _"Still no word."_

Jack thought for a moment. His deputy's badge glinted in the sun. Edie and Mr. Blakely looked on, arms folded. "Vicky, you need to have Dayton send a CS unit out to Edie's," he said eventually. "And you put an A.P.B. out on the Sheriff and Breen Haskell, and send units over to their houses immediately. You copy all that?"

_"Copy. And, Jack - we__'re getting a _lotta_ unusual calls."_

"...What kinds of unusual calls?"

* * *

><p>In the offices of the local car dealership, Izzy Castanella dumped something into a filing cabinet and spread his hands in bewilderment. He was a mousy little man who'd been selling cars for as long as Jack could remember, but now his smooth salesman's voice had given way to anger as he tried to communicate just how <em>frustrated<em> he was.

"It's the weirdest thing, Jack. I don't know what to yell you."

"Security cameras catch anything?"

"Zero! Tape musta been demagnetised, the alarms never went off… I didn't even know we had a problem here till I tried to take Pat for a test drive!"

"And nobody saw anyone?"

"Nada. Zilch. Not a thing!"

Jack grimaced. _Of course there's nothing. _"Well... why don't ya' come out and show me your cars."

"Yeah. Sure." Izzy rolled his eyes in exasperation, then squeezed past to have a quick word with his waiting customers. _"Are you okay, Pat?"_

_ "I'm okay."_

_ "We're really sorry about this. I'll be with you in a second."_

There was a TV on in the corner of the office, sitting on an unused desk. It was showing another news report about the train crash, just like all the other local TV stations had been doing for the past 24 hours. Jack found himself staring at the footage; it was almost hypnotic.

"Jack, come on! You gotta see this!"

He whirled around. "Yeah. Coming."

* * *

><p>"I've never seen this kind of thing before! I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do? The <em>insurance company guy<em> thought I was jokin' with him!"

Izzy made his way down the line of cars – a shiny red Chevy, a new-model Camaro, a black second-hand Buick – and popped the hood of each one as he walked past. Jack followed close behind, squinting in the sunlight. Lines of triangular flags stretched over the yard, flapping in the light breeze. A couple of curious onlookers had stepped off the main street and were looking at the cars in bewilderment.

"I mean, it's crazy! Look at my Bonneville over here! They'd have to have a winch to take that out!" Izzy held up the bonnet and gestured at the engine – or where the engine would've been, if it hadn't been conspicuously missing. The body work was still intact, the suspension and oil pipes were still there, but the engine block had been… removed, cleanly, like it had never been there in the first place. It was the same with every one of the two-dozen cars that sat in Izzy's yard.

Jack shrugged helplessly and tried to muster up some curiosity. _I've only got room in my head for three mysteries a day, not three thousand. _"…You been having any troubles with anyone lately, Izzy?"

"Ha. Well, I was thinking you should talk to Louis Dainard."

Jack's eyes flicked over to him, just for a moment.

"Yeah." Izzy nodded. "I didn't help him out with financing last year, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was some sort of_ sick_ retribution."

* * *

><p>But that was only the start - <em>three thousand mysteries, coming right up. <em>Jack's black police uniform drew people to him like moths to a lightbulb, and as he walked out of the caryard he found himself besieged with questions. There was some guy in overalls, a woman in a blue dress, another woman who'd lost something—

"Hey, deputy! My _generator_ is missing, it was stolen last night—"

"—the phones aren't working! They won't produce a signal—"

"Excuse me, but my dog's gone. Disappeared."

"—someone's taken my generator, listen—"

"Deputy, please, I really need you to come and take a look."

Jack did his best to brush them off while being diplomatic at the same time. "Call the station and file a report. I'll have someone come out and take care of each one of you, okay?"

Suddenly, an unfamiliar noise filled his ears. He stopped walking and looked up the road, past the pinball arcade, where…

…A convoy of air force trucks was rumbling down the main street of Lillian – big six-wheelers with thick tires, painted in dark camouflage, their trays covered with olive-green canvas rooves.

_Somehow, t__his is only the second-craziest thing I've seen today._

People stopped what they were doing and watched from the sidewalks, alternately curious and afraid. Jack just stared. The first truck rolled past him thirty seconds later, engine rumbling, smoke pouring from the exhaust; it looked like a troop carrier, and a dozen uniformed air force men were sitting in the tray. One was listening intently on some sort of radio, while another was pointing a scanner at the road. Some kind of beeping, cylindrical thing.

Then another truck drove past, and another. The sight was incredibly out of place, a train of twenty gigantic military trucks passing through like they owned the place. _What the hell are _they_ doing here? _

_It can't be good, whatever it is. And __I sure am saying that a lot these days._

* * *

><p>Jack kept staring until the engine-rumble faded and the last soldier had disappeared over the hill. The trucks had passed by without incident, and, now that he thought about it, they were probably just on their way to the crash site – <em>but what are they doing over there that needs 200 soldiers to handle?<em>

He'd just started walking down the street back to the police station when something caught his eye, momentarily pushing the convoy from his mind. Joe and Charles and the rest of his friends were sitting in the window of JJ's Diner, with a girl that looked a lot like—

* * *

><p>"Roooaaaghoooorrrr… Uurrrggghhh…"<p>

Alice made a better zombie than Charles, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying. He leaned back in his chair and waved his arms, moaning vigorously

"Shut up!" Cary hissed, suppressing a smile. "It's not funny. Everyone's looking at us."

"Aaaaahhhh… urrrghh."

"Shut up, dude, seriously!"

Charles took a zombie-sip of his milkshake and collapsed into laughter. Alice giggled, but Cary was unimpressed. "Sometimes, Charles, I wonder why we haven't killed each other. _God_."

"I wonder about that all the time," Preston murmured.

Joe smiled. Back at the house, the movie had been going well – they'd been getting through the scenes, and Alice and Martin were acting really well together, and the makeup and special effects were all looking great. But, as it turned out, making movies was also _exhausting, _so they'd all gone into town to refuel on chips and pure sugar—

_Tap-tap-tap. _

There was a sudden knock on the window. Everyone stopped talking and turned to see who it was.

"Joe, it's your dad…" Martin murmured.

"He can see that," Cary retorted.

"Well – I dunno, maybe he…"

Everyone was slightly afraid of Joe's dad.

And it was definitely him, standing on the other side of the glass – _a tall figure in a uniform with a face like a stormcloud. Of course, it used to be different, didn't it._ Joe sighed and stood up, felt the smile disappear off his face. The others all gave him sympathetic looks as he trudged over to the door.

"Good luck Joe," Cary called out.

_Thanks, I guess._

* * *

><p>He stepped out onto the street and walked to where his father was standing, scribbling something in his notebook. He didn't exactly seem happy, but… "Hey."<p>

Jack looked up. "What're you doing?" he asked grimly.

"…What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know what—"

"You're NOT friends with Alice Dainard." He glanced over at the the group of kids in the diner, who were doing their best not to stare.

"…We're just shooting a movie."

"Don't talk back to me. Did you take care of the backyard like I asked you to?"

_What? _"No, not yet. I was gonna do it later—"

"Well I want you home, and I want you to clean the backyard, and while you're at it you can take care of the garage. You got me?"

"But we're just making Charles' movie…" Joe said defensively. He had no idea why his dad was so_ angry. _

Jack took a breath, jaw clenched. His eyes were hard. "Joe, _listen to me_. I've got enough things goin' on right now, and I don't need trouble with you. Are we clear?"

After a moment, Joe nodded.

"Good. Go home."

His father walked off across the street. Joe stared daggers at his back. Around him, the world continued to run; pedestrians still walked the footpaths and cars still trundled past, all ignorant of that sick feeling in his stomach, like he'd just been punched by a battering ram. Ignorant of the injustice of it all.

Then he looked over at his friends, laughing and joking behind the glass, and let out one miserable sigh.


	8. The Missing

_Author's Note: Okay, so this part of the movie is made up of lots of short shots – five, ten, thirty seconds long – which I tried to stitch together more cohesively by adding in some transitions. That _seemed_ to work out okay, and it also gave me some nice long single-person scenes that I could be a bit more creative with. And while some of the character thoughts are a bit less subtle than I intended them to be, Super 8 isn't exactly the most subtle movie anyway :-). The horror-movie type stuff is also quite fun to write – trying to evoke the right fears and sensations and so on._

_And, just so you know, I had to completely redo the dog posters thing because the FanFiction editor played absolute HELL with my formatting. Everything I do, I do for _you_, dear reader. (And my own personal satisfaction. But mainly for you.)_

_EDIT 30/7/2012: Sorry that there's been a bit of a gap between updates - university has started up again and I have a slight lack of free time at the moment. I'm also trying to update some of my other stories too, but once I'm done I'll try and smash out a few Super 8 chapters :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Missing<span>

_And just like that, things change. One moment you're the happiest kid in the world, with two months of holidays spread out before you and an awesome group of friends. But the next moment…_

_ …the next moment, you're reminded of everything you left behind._

He pushed the mower across the yard, enveloped by the smell of newly-cut grass.

_Reminded, by a little smile here and there. By a quiet forgotten corner. By the way your friends all treat you slightly differently now, like you'll break if they hit you too hard. By how your dad doesn't really know what to do with anything if it's not a policeman's job._

The Lambs' so-called 'backyard' was actually on the right side of the house, slightly sloped, bare except for a rusting swingset and a couple of pine trees by the back fence. He remembered sitting on those swings, and being pushed up into the sky.

He remembered falling out of those trees once too, and almost breaking his arm. That wasn't so great.

_But man, he REALLY, really pisses me– Really annoys me sometimes. I know it's hard, I do, but he's so… I don't know. Always there, just being _him_. And now everyone's had to postpone the movie because of me._

The blades sliced and hissed through the stalks, leaving behind a trail of dead greenery. His jeans chafed against his legs. The sun was getting lower by the minute. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and his shadow stretched out in front of him like… a shadow. _I'm too tired for metaphors._

He reached the edge of the yard and turned back around, started mowing down another row. The last one. Right next to the street. The mower got stuck on something for a moment and he had to lift it forward, stumbling a little.

_And, I mean, I can't be friends with Alice just because of her_ dad_? What kind of reason is that? Just because he—_

_ I don't know. I don't know if I should hate him, or be angry, or what. Sometimes I am, I guess. People say things. Whatever happened, happened, and it did because Louis Dainard wasn't there._

_ But that doesn't mean Alice is like him._

_ She's different._

_ I like her._

_ Maybe I like her because I shouldn't._

But that wasn't true, really. He knew that much. He liked her because she was funny, and pretty, and caring, and because she seemed – seemed to…

Joe smiled. Mr Geoffries, his PE teacher, would say he liked her because of his raging teenage hormones. Even if that was true, he didn't really care.

Suddenly, the mower jerked to a stop as it ground up against the mailbox. Joe blinked and looked back at the yard. "All done," he murmured._ And about time. _He lifted up the mower awkwardly and carried it over to the side of the house; then he trudged up the stairs to the front door, wiped off his sneakers, and stepped inside.

The house was quiet. It was always quiet, of course, but that didn't stop him hoping it wouldn't be. Not much sun was coming in through the windows and he felt his way down the entrance hall with ten years of muscle memory, dodging the assorted coat racks and cupboards until he could flick on the lights at the far end. _Kind of a stupid__ spot to put a light switch._

He shivered, suddenly cold, and walked through to the lounge. The thick carpet seemed to absorb any sound. A slight layer of dust covered everything – the chairs, the photographs, the lampshades, everything except the doorknobs.

It was getting late; Lucy would probably come begging for her dinner soon with that old drooping-tail-and-sad-eyes trick. He stuck his head into the kitchen, looking for the bag of dog food, before remembering he'd put it in the back door storage cupboard.

_Well, the sun's still up. Maybe I can head over to Charles' house before dinner, he said he had that magazine he wanted to show me. And if I can find that extra film canister in the garage—_

"Oh. I forgot about the garage." Joe winced. "Still one more friggin' job to do."

He walked through to the back room and there was the dog food, sitting on the bottom shelf of the cupboard. _Amazing. _He took it over to Lucy's bowl, bent down to pour it in…

The bowl was still filled to the brim with biscuits from that morning. Her water dish hadn't been touched either.

Joe frowned.

_That never happens. Her food's usually gone in five minutes._

_ That NEVER happens._

"…Lucy?"

No answer.

"Lucy?"

He checked his bedroom, checked the lounge.

Just a quiet house.

"LUCY!"

* * *

><p>"Lucy! LUCY!"<p>

The road clung to the hillside on the south side of town, winding around behind the steel mill, overlooking the flat grey sheds and smoking chimneys. On the other side was just forest; dense, dark forest.

"Lucy!" The wind ruffled his hair, made his jacket fly out behind him. He stopped pedalling for a moment and snaked from side to side. "Lucy!"

He had to detour onto the footpath to let a car pass by. There were a couple of big dirt piles lining the road and he coasted quickly between them, looking around hopefully for a flash of brown fur.

Was it stupid, searching for her? Lillian was a pretty big town. If she'd gotten lost somewhere there was almost no chance that he'd find her on his own. _Or she's probably back home right now, covered in sticks and dirt, wondering where that kid of hers has gone. _

He kept riding. Further and further, letting the sun sink lower behind him until the sky was pink and grey, following the road as it and zig-zagged up the hillside and left the town behind.

* * *

><p>At the very top of the hill there was a dry field, covered in waist-high brown grass. Joe rolled to a stop and took a couple of steps off the road.<p>

"Lucy!" He dropped his bike in the grass. "LUCY!"

When he'd been younger they'd used to take Lucy here all the time, so she could run around without worrying about cars or fences or people. They'd play fetch and chase each other, and roll around in the dirt, and she never got lost because all you had to do to find her was look at where the grass was moving. And you could see the whole valley from up here. The houses, the mill, the forest. Spread out like a model.

He kept expecting to see a furry shape come bounding out of the grass, panting and wagging its tail.

But she didn't.

* * *

><p>Joe skidded into the driveway and dumped his bike in the yard, just as the sun was about to set. He ran into the house and barged into his bedroom, flicked on the lamp, found some paper, grabbed a blue marker and a photo of Lucy off the wall. As he sat down at his desk he was already scribbling a message.<p>

'_MISSING… DOG… 'LUCY'..._

* * *

><p>On the bike again, riding into town this time instead of out of it. He coasted past the local church, with its big dome and steel-clad towers, and came to a stop next to the new town hall – a three-storey red brick building with an American flag flying above the door. Out in front of it was a wooden noticeboard, where people usually stuck their advertisements and announcements and the like.<p>

Joe fished his hastily-made poster out of his backpack, found a spare pin, and stuck it right in the middle. "Missing dog: Lucy," it said, beneath a photo of her all happy and smiling. "Please call Deputy Lamb or Joe."

But there were a _lot_ of posters on the noticeboard. It was almost completely filled. Joe took a step back, looked at some of the others. Suddenly, he realised that—

***HAVE YOU SEEN ROXY?***

****CALL MICHELLE – 165-151****

_**Chuggles**_

**Lost/missing**

**WHITE SHITZU MI****X**

****6 YEARS OLD****

_****"COOP"****_

_******1 Male - 1½ years******_

_** Terrier mix **_

_**Very energetic!**_

_****And approachable.****_

_******Please call the Sutts******_

_********if you've seen our dog!********_

*MISSING! HELP!*

Reward for return

Call Tammy H if you see her

****HAVE YOU SEEN ****PUDGE?****

**Missing since yesterday**

****Please call with any info…****

******Bonni – 955-0187******

********Thank you :-)********

**H _Juliet & Maggie_**

**E _Bull terriers_**

**L _Missing yesterday_**

**P _Call – 156-3134_**

LOST DOG – KEEP AN EYE OUT

Name: Dodgi

Sex: Male 

Age: 4 yrs

Colour: B&W

Dave – 585-0181

_** Sadie – Two Years - Female**_

_****We need your help to find her****_

_******Small terrier last seen on Main St******_

_********Around 20lbs, has her tags, very friendly…********_

**Fritzy is ****MISSING**

**Photo attached...**

**Belongs to the Wilkins **

—they were _all_ for missing dogs. All of them. There had to be dozens of posters there, fifty, a hundred, overlapped almost three layers deep, completely covering the noticeboard with pinned-up photos and smudged, desperate messages.

_Pancake - missing, white terrier mix, such a nice dog, please help._

_ Lost dog. Broccoli. Still a puppy. Will give reward._

_ Have you seen James? Purebreed boxer. Please call…_

Joe shivered.

Half the dogs in Lillian must've been stuck up on that board. Half the town, pleading for help.

It was one of the creepiest things he'd ever seen.

* * *

><p>When he finally got back, it was dark. <em>Really <em>dark. He'd had to use his torch for the last bit of the journey, holding it clumsily in one hand, the light bouncing all over the road and not really helping much at all. His legs ached from the ride, and he was still worried about Lucy (_and all those other missing dogs) – _but, as he made his way up the front steps, Joe realised that he could he could hear voices from inside the house.

He opened the door cautiously. One of the voices was his dad's; it sounded like he was talking to some of his cop friends.

_"I got four guys on this case…"_

_ "Yeah, and people don't feel safe around here. You know why? Because they're not."_

_ "…We need to get the National Guard."_

Joe stepped through to the kitchen, barely making a sound, still holding the torch in one hand.

His dad and five other policemen were sitting around the dinner table, still wearing their clean black uniforms. Joe recognised some of the faces – there was Milner, a tall guy with short brown hair, and Rosko, with the weaselly face and who always had this intense look in his eyes, plus a few guys he didn't know. The table was covered in pencils and papers and half-empty beers, and a cold pizza sat forlornly on the kitchen bench. Cigarette smoke curled up towards the ceiling.

"…When the convoy rolled through, one of the guys who was riding shotgun in the back of one of the trucks, he had, like – a scanner," Milner was saying.

"Like a Geiger counter?"

"Yeah.

"And the air force still hasn't answered a damn question. But now they've got trucks over at Woodward's house, and Ben heard they were looking for Woodward's research."

Joe blinked.

"_Glen _Woodward? The teacher?"

"That's the one. No idea what they want with a high school teacher's 'research', though."

"Research. What the hell." Rosko scowled. "But all this weird stuff, all the weird calls, it has to be related to this, right? The air force, the train crash…"

Joe kept standing in the kitchen, listening. A million thoughts flashed through his mind. None of the men had noticed him yet.

"They're saying it's just cleanup at the crash site too."

"Of course they are."

"—but they're taking molds of tire tracks."

"…What?"

Jack nodded. "I saw them when I checked it out two days ago. Two guys, taking molds of tire tracks. That means they're looking for someone. Now what does THAT—"

CLACK!

Metal clattered on the tiles. Joe's fingers twitched and he realised that he'd dropped the torch in shock. In the sudden silence, six policemen all turned to face him with varying degrees of confusion.

He swallowed nervously and focused on his dad. "Uhh… Have you seen Lucy anywhere?"

"No, but I'm sure she's around somewhere," Jack said kindly. He frowned a little in concern. "I, uh, put a couple of slices in the fridge for you there."

"Oh – I ate those," one of the other policemen muttered. "Sorry, kid."

Joe brushed it off. "No problem. I'll find something—"

The room suddenly went dark as the power flickered.

"Hey!"

"Woooaahh…"

"You gotta be _kidding_," Jack muttered got up from his chair and walked to the kitchen, nodded at Joe's torch as he swept past – "pick that up, will you?" – and snatched his police radio up off the bench.

"Hey Vicky, you got power down at the station?"

_ "On and off, it's getting worse. And Brook County's in the dark!"_

"Do me a favour and get water and power out there right now, will you?"

_"Copy that."_

* * *

><p>Joe clutched the walkie-talkie to his ear and jammed his thumb on the transmit button. "Hey, Charles. This is Joe. Hello?"<p>

Static hissed in his ear. He was leaning against the lounge room couch, just around the corner from his dad and assorted members of the LPD (who were still heatedly discussing the air force presence). A couple of wet paintbrushes and his Hunchback of Notre Dame statue stared at him from the coffee table. Next to it was his dinner – a glass of orange juice and a soggy bowl of Cheerios.

"Charles, this is Joe. Hello?"

A hundred different scenarios were running through his head, most of them bad, featuring train crashes and army commandos and crazy biology teachers. He kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the carpet. _Come on, come on, pick up… there's like, eight people living in that house, at least _one_ of them should notice a walkie-talkie going off. _

"Charles. Hey, you ther—"

_"Yeah I'm here, dumbass. What's so important? I was just about to—"_

"Charles, listen. My dad has some of his friends over for dinner and they've been talking about the train crash. They mentioned Dr. Woodward, they said the air force was looking for him. And I think the air force is looking for us, too. Over."

* * *

><p>Fifty metres down the road and clutching a walkie-talkie of his own, Charles almost choked on his own tongue. "WHAT?"<p>

_ "The air force. Like all the weird trucks that drove through today, and all those soldiers who're cleaning up the crash. My dad said they're at Woodward's house looking for his research. Whatever that means."_

"Joe, who cares! You said they were…" He paused, tried to keep his voice down. His younger brother was sitting on the bed behind him, playing with a rubbery dinosaur mask. "…You said they were looking for _us_!"

"_Yeah, I think so."_

"Then I was right! We shouldn't be talking about this stuff!"

"_Charles, listen, let me explain."_

* * *

><p>Joe glanced around the corner, made sure that no one was watching. One of the policemen glanced at him curiously as he walked past on his way to the bathroom.<p>

"So the air force is looking for a car," he began, almost whispering. "Alice's _dad's _car. They're taking the prints from the crash site, over."

_"I don't wanna hear about it." _Charles retorted. "_This is what I've been talking about. They could be monitoring us right now."_

"But it—"

"_Jesus, shut UP!… Over."_ Charles sighed over the radio. Joe heard someone squealing in the background.

_"You CANNOT flake out on me and be a dick,_" he said eventually. "_Are you gonna come and help me tomorrow or not? I need you to make Alice a zombie again."_

Joe nodded. "Okay. I'll do the makeup."

_"Good. See you tomorrow, over."_

"G'night. Over."

* * *

><p>Charles rolled over and turned off the walkie talkie, just in time to see his brother stick the dinosaur mask on his head and take a flying leap off the top bunk.<p>

The results were truly amazing.

* * *

><p>Far away, on the outskirts of town, a repair truck trundled through the night. It was painted white, and had a snub-nosed cab with a cherry picker mounted on the back. Ahead of it, the road arrowed straight into the distance, dividing up a couple of dairy farms – flat green fields turned black by the starlight, dotted with fences and the occasional barn.<p>

Dave Rooney hadn't seen another vehicle in twenty minutes. He wasn't surprised; no one in their right mind would be out driving this late on a Sunday night. _'Cept me, of course. And everyone else in the Electrical and Water department. _He leant back in the driver's seat with his elbow out the window, following the line of power poles that ran alongside the road.

They were pretty normal-looking power poles at first glance – big logs of wood with the little crosspiece at the top, sticking out of the ground every thirty metres… Except that all the wires were missing. All the carrying cables, all the grounding wires were nowhere to be seen, like they'd never been there at all.

And the wires, well, they were the key to the whole thing, weren't they? Without wires, you didn't have electricity. And without electricity, your power pole was just a pole, stuck in the dirt, about as much use as giant flipping toothpick. And without electricity, people got _annoyed_, annoyed that they couldn't watch their fancy TVs and use their fancy water heaters, so guys like Rooney had to drive around in the middle of the night trying to _fix_ things.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no use complaining. _You got a job to do, so let's do it. _He scratched at his thinning sideburns and forced his mouth into a smile, which it didn't seem to like very much.

Suddenly the truck's CB radio buzzed to life; a couple of the other repair crews were seeing the same problem.

_"The cables are gone. All the poles are empty."_

_ "Same thing over here in Rose Hill… somebody took the damn _wires_ down."_

_ "Holy shit…"_

He kept following the road, peering up at the empty poles. A couple of minutes later he was passing Decker's Salvage – a big fenced-off junkyard, surrounded on all sides by thick clumps of birch trees. Idly, Rooney noticed that some of the junkyard's lights were still on—

_There._ The wires were back. He pushed hard on the brakes and the truck squeaked to a stop. He backed it up a little and pulled over on the side of the road, stopping right next to where the last wires ended. Rooney had no idea how he was supposed to re-lay eight hundred yards of copper – y_ou're gonna need more than one guy and a crummy old cherry picker to do _that – but if he could get a look at the transformer up on that pole, maybe he could redirect the power through the salvage yard and down another line?

It was worth a shot, so he switched on the truck's hazard lights and hopped out of the cab. The night was warm and there was barely a hint of a breeze as slipped into his hard hat and yellow rubber safety vest. He trudged around the back of the truck and checked that the safeties were working properly, then stepped into the basket on the end of the crane arm and shut the gate behind him.

His radio crackled. _"Hey, Rooney, you got anything in Lillian?"_

"We got a half-mile of copper missing," he announced, squinting at the nearest pole. "Lines are back up at M-38."

_"Thanks for the info. Truck 14, Rooney's out at the junkyard. I'll give you an update when I hear back."_

Rooney took the crane's controls and it began angling upwards, rising up off the back of the truck with well-oiled smoothness. Hydraulics buzzed as the beam extended, lifting him higher and higher, and thirty seconds later he was level with the top of the power pole about ten metres off the ground. The transformer was a battered metal box that was attached to the pole and he rotated crane until he could touch it.

_And here we go._ He pulled on his working gloves and took a multimeter from his toolkit, then attached it to one of the transformer's contact points. The soft hum of live electricity filled his ears as he waited for the readings to stabilise. There were crickets, too, chirping loudly – thousands of them probably lived in the trees surrounding the salvage yard.

Up here, above the ground, Rooney always found it comforting. It was just _him_. Him and his work, nothing else to worry about, the real world far below. He'd never been afraid of heights, so the little basket of the end of the crane had almost become his own private little kingdom.

Something clanged in the distance.

_What the hell?_

A metallic clang, coming from the junkyard. Like something falling over. Rooney tried to see what it was, but the tops of the trees were blocking his view. In front of him it was just thick green leaves and a million twinkling stars.

He waited for a couple of seconds, listening for more noise, but – there was nothing. Just peaceful silence. He snorted and turned back to his work. _Man, every – single – time you go out on these night jobs, you end up gettin' the heebie jeebies. You'd think a man would stop being afraid of the dark once he gets past his thirties. Or his fifties—_

There was another clatter from the junkyard. He whirled around, just in time to see a big piece of scrap metal pop up above the trees, then fall back down again – like someone was playing catch with it. Rooney frowned, tried to squint through the leaves. The clattering continued, hollow, echoing, and suddenly other _stuff_ began to fly above the treeline – more scrap, a toilet, what looked like _an entire motorcycle_. Metal glinted in the moonlight. Something crashed to earth with a devastating crunch.

Rooney gripped the edges of the basket, leaning forwards, jumping at every sound. It was _surreal._

But he didn't think he was scared, not yet – until a battered, dented oven cannoned up from behind the trees, arcing into the night, spinning wildly, soaring impossibly over Rooney and his truck… and slammed into the road with bone-shattering force. It burst apart on impact like a crazy metal snowball, scattering debris across the grass.

Rooney watched it sit there for a second, an incredulous look on his face – then he fumbled at the crane's control lever. The basket rose further, above the power poles, towards the top of the trees.

Something was still banging and crashing in the junkyard. It sounded a bit like an animal. _No animal I've ever seen, though. Maybe… an elephant? _He tried to imagine an elephant throwing an oven with its trunk, and couldn't.

The crane jerked to a stop and sounded a warning buzzer. Rooney took his hand off the lever. Full extension. He was about fifteen metres above the ground, now, but he still couldn't quite see over the trees. Silvery green leaves blocked his view. Up above, it was just open sky – endless, open sky.

And it was _very_ dark, he noticed. The thick trees, the open road. All dark. That darkness could swallow him up in an instant and nobody would know.

His back prickled.

All alone.

Blind.

He imagined the field behind him, imagined the shadows under all the blades of grass gathering together and reaching up, plucking him out of his truck and…

Rooney realised his heart was beating wildly fast. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach. But he kept looking into the trees, his weathered face twitching a little as he wondered if he _wanted_ to see what was running through the junkyard or if he really, really didn't. _Just calm – calm down. You're not thinking. You're not thinking right._

Silence.

Not even crickets.

Below him, the headlights of the truck began to blink on and off. _Click-click. Click-click. _Then the junkyard's lights started doing it too, flickering randomly, bright and dark. Even the ones that were disconnected.

Rooney didn't like that at _all._ He grabbed the crane's joystick and pushed it down, wiggled it from side to side.

Nothing. No response. He kept pushing at it, hoping it would suddenly start to work so he could get down to the ground and jump in the truck and run. In spite of himself, he found his eyes raised to the trees again, searching. For something, anything.

Just… leaves.

Leaves and shadows.

And-

An echoing cry.

A grey blur, crashing through the trees.

The hint of a scream.

Lungs half-filled.

Impact.

Flying.

Glass cracked, a delicate spiderweb.

Wrenching metal.

The truck rocking on its wheels.

Leaves, falling from the trees like snow.

Just a shadow, swallowed by the night.


	9. Precious

_Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. I've basically got the rest of this thing planned out, so all I need to do is sit down and write it out – but university work has this way of devouring peoples' time. There'll be around twenty chapters total in case you're wondering, so we're about half-way._

_In a slightly annoying twist, the scenes with Joe's dad seem to be more difficult for me to write than Joe's stuff, usually because they jump around a lot and keep introducing new minor characters. The bit in the town hall and police station? Took hours. The bit with Joe and Alice talking 'bout paint? Took much, much less. The 'slightly annoying' bit comes in because the Joe stuff is the more emotional and involving part of the movie, whereas the other stuff is more exposition and plot. But I guess it's all fun in the end, and hey, I'm the one choosing to do this to myself :-). _

_Anyway! As always, I've added/removed a few lines here and there to improve the flow a bit, and I've chucked any applicable deleted scenes back in. Enjoy the chapter._

* * *

><p><span>Precious<span>

"I wanna know who took them!" Debbie called out. "Twenty microwaves – GONE – from my inventory."

She seemed angry. Jack couldn't blame her, of course – who wouldn't be angry if twenty of their microwaves were stolen in the night? – but it seemed more than a little unfair to be directing that anger at _him_. And it was the same with the other hundred people crammed into the town hall: a sea of faces, all staring up at him, looking uncomfortably like the beginnings of a paranoid, angry mob. There was Mr. Daniels, usually a pretty reasonable human being, nodding along with the rest of them. There was the Weaver family, dressed up in their Sunday best, all whispering to each other nervously. The air was hot and stifling; the room dark and dim. Old watercolours and stuffed moose-heads hung from the walls.

"Twenty microwaves! That's thousands of dollars, gone," Debbie continued. "What are the police going to do about it?"

Jack felt small, standing up on the boxy little stage. "We're working on it as hard as we can," he assured her. He leant towards the microphone. "You have to appreciate that everyone's got their own problems and we're having a little trouble dealing with it all."

"But that's not good enough, Jack! Everywhere you look, things are going missing. We've got trains crashing, _people_ vanishing… _Belmont County's _without power."

She said it as if he didn't know, as if he hadn't spent the past two days trying to deal with that exact problem.

"Belmont County, Jack! The whole county! And there's all the dogs gone missing, and the military coming through… You know what this feels like to me?" She paused dramatically. "This feels like a _Russian invasion_."

There was applause at that.

"Debbie, I don't think that the Russians have anything to do with what's going on in town, but I am calling the curfew because of these exact concerns—"

"Unless you can tell me who's been messing around with our stuff, _I_ say it's the Soviets," she said firmly. "I like you, Jack, but we need Sheriff Pruitt back."

More applause. Some enthusiastic shouting. Debbie sat down, and a forest of hands shot into the air.

Jack looked around the room for someone that seemed vaguely friendly. _This was supposed to be a discussion about the curfew, not a witch hunt. _"Mr McCandless?"

Mr McCandless stood up, an older, balding man with a few wisps of hair atop his forehead. "Since Wednesday morning I've been having this – this problem," he began. "My ham radio, it's, it's a mess!"

Groans from the crowd.

"Some frequencies which I like to scan, I'm, I'm hearing military chatter. But it's distorted. And I, uh, don't know what it is. Have you heard that?"

Up on the stage, Jack narrowed his eyes. "Mr McCandless, can I have a word with you in private, please?"

* * *

><p>Jack down the steps and dragged McCandless to a quiet corner. The crowd chattered to themselves animatedly as he pulled out his notebook. "So can you describe exactly what happened?"<p>

"Usually you're meant to have your own frequency with these radios," he explained. "But there was these voices, chatter, just coming in right over the top of the signal. It was like having my radio hijacked."

"I'm sure that must be very annoying. You don't know those frequencies offhand, do you?"

"Oh, sure I do! Thirteen-two-zero-one—"

* * *

><p>And with that, the meeting was over. Jack pushed through the town hall door and stepped out onto the street, the radio frequencies clutched in his hand. Once again he found himself with more questions than answers – trying to unravel the mystery that had taken over his town.<p>

And once again, he found himself being pursued by people and their problems. Ordinarily, he would've been glad to help, but right now was just not the time—

"But Jack, we came home and it was gone!"

"Patty, I'm sorry but I just can't help you right now. Why don't you get in touch with Vicky?" He brushed past, and saw Dave Richards standing in the parking lot. "Hey, Dave, you seen Milner?"

"No sir, I haven't," was the apologetic reply.

"_What are you gonna do about the power, it's been out for two days!"_

He kept walking, past the big noticeboard with all the missing dogs, looking around for black uniforms. Someone came up behind him. "Jack, there's a huge sinkhole by my garage! It sunk almost a foot!"

"Yeah, I'll take care of that. Hey Tom. Tom!"

The policeman whirled around from across the street. "What?"

"You seen Milner?"

"No! Have you tried his office?"

Jack snorted to himself. "Heh, 'Have you tried his office…'"

* * *

><p>The front room of the police station was jam-packed with people – and again, they all wanted help. Phones rang off the hook, sharp and loud. A nervous undercurrent of conversation filled the room and bounced off the white-washed walls. Jack made a beeline for the reception desk, peered over one of the glass dividers at where Rosko was sitting.<p>

"Rosko, I need you to get every radio we have and you tune them to these frequencies. Understand?"

"…No?"

"Just do it." He handed the list of frequencies to him and walked on past into the main office. _And whaddaya know, Tom was right. _Milner was sitting at his desk, slacking off by the looks of things.

"Hey, Milner."

"Yeah?" The young officer jumped up.

"Don't you have a – a radio scanner with a descrambler?"

"A voice inverter, yeah. At home."

"Whatever. Get it. Bring it down here and set it up for me, would you please."

"Sure thing." Milner nodded, walked off. Jack looked around. The frequencies were important, he could feel it, and if they could just tap into the signal they'd know what the—

"Jack, what is this?" Rosko asked bemusedly, coming up behind him.

"I think the Air Force is using unassigned channels," Jack explained. The words tumbled out of his mouth. "And if that's a—"

"Hey!"

Jack knew that voice. He whirled around and saw Louis Dainard – _Louis-goddamn-Dainard_ – standing right there in the middle of the station, ape-like, menacing, stopped in his tracks, staring at him from beneath furrowed brows. He was sporting his trademark wavy blonde hair and a singlet stretched tight across his chest. Long sideburns ran down to his chin, and another police officer was leading him on by the arm.

"We brought him in for the car lot and other stuff," Rosko muttered under his breath. "He's clean."

But Jack still tensed up a little.

He couldn't help it.

"He was at my house yesterday morning," Dainard called out. "You aware of that?"

Jack stayed silent. _No, I wasn't._

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd inform your son that my house is _off-limits_," he said forcefully. "And so is my daughter_._"

The other officers hustled him out of the building. Jack watched him go with hard brown eyes, thoughts churning in his mind.

* * *

><p>Another day, another scene. Joe bustled around his room, grabbing old sheets and clothes and chucking them into the cupboard. Dust swirled through the air. "I think the make-up was better yesterday," he said apologetically.<p>

"No… it's good. I think it looks good." Alice stepped in after him, somewhat gingerly.

"I should've cleaned up my room. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Alice dodged him as he cleared the floor, wearing the same old orange costume dress. Morning sunlight fell through the window, lazy and golden.

They were filming at Joe's house today; the last act of the movie, where Alice was the zombie. They were all set to finish it off, but the others were still getting ready, so…

Joe had taken his chance.

A chance to talk.

Because talking to Alice was kinda awesome.

Joe took a deep breath. Alice had walked over to his desk, and was taking in the stained newspaper, the paint, the models. "Did you make all these?" she asked.

"Yeah." He nodded. "There's a knight, and a Spitfire…"

And one in particular, kneeling on its stand half-finished, green-skinned and grimacing.

"…that one's the Hunchback of Notre Dame. We watched it on TV."

He noticed one of his tests lying on the desk and hurriedly flipped it over (C-minus, it said helpfully, circled in red at the top). It turned into a kind of awkward lean as he tried to look casual, but Alice just smiled and turned away.

Joe chucked a few more clothes onto the grand heap in the corner. He was blinking furiously and bobbing around all over the place, and told himself to get a grip.

_Seriously, get a grip._

He tripped over a box and swore under his breath.

_ Well, that didn't work. But I guess this is a pretty good reason to keep your room clean from now on._

Eventually, the last unwashed shirt had been cleared away and Joe shoved his hands into his pockets. Alice was admiring another model, a couple of feet long, mounted on the wall above his bed.

"It's a, a zeppelin. Blowing up," he told her.

"It's neat," she replied.

Awkward pause.

He realised that she was wearing perfume. It was nice. Sweet. Then his eyes widened as he saw a fun little book poking out from under his pillow (_"What's Happening to Me?"_, it was called; there were far too many drawings of penises in it). He jumped over and pushed it under the sheets, hoping Alice hadn't noticed.

_What now?_

_ …Models! She seems to think the models are pretty cool, right?_

Joe stepped past and grabbed something from a drawer. Alice sat down on the bed, and Joe plonked himself down beside her.

"This is the train they want to destroy."

He handed it to her. It was a single carriage, about twenty centimetres long; square, a curving roof and a sliding door on either side. The ribbed metal walls were military green, a scratched red undercoat barely visible.

"Looks real," she said appreciatively. "It looks so old."

"Yeah – that's dry brush technique."

Alice raised an eyebrow.

"Um… it's when there's a coat of paint, and then you put something like, uh" – he reached over and grabbed one of the little plastic bottles – "like Euro grey over it."

Alice grinned. "_Euro_ grey?"

"Oh my god, there's like – fourteen different greys. It gets crazy." Joe rolled his eyes. "And you just pour it onto your paper plate, and then take a dry brush, and then you _barely_ dip it in, and then you make a brushstroke on a piece of paper until there's barely any paint on there, and then you take the model and you make nice short brushstrokes. Like where the wear and tear would be." He pointed at the model. Alice watched intently. "Like around the edges, where the door slides open, where the wheel is. And then you do it again except with, uh…" He grabbed another bottle. "…camouflage grey, or like how I did it, with the insignia red, to make it look like there was another coat of paint, but you could see that it was being scratched off…"

He trailed off, fiddling with his bottle of insignia red.

_AAAAHHHHHH—_

Alice smiled and ran a finger over the paint, turning the train over and over in her hands. Then, suddenly, she looked at him – really _looked _at him. "What was that necklace?" she asked. "The one you were holding at the train crash. Was it your mom's?"

Joe stopped fiddling. It was deathly silent, and the sun was warm on his back.

He swallowed.

When he spoke, his voice was timid. Devoid of emotion.

"My dad gave it to her the day I was born," he said slowly. "She wears it all the time. Well – used to. And… it was bad, how she died, and…"

He swallowed again.

"…but my dad got it back."

He nodded, and tried to make himself smile. Just for a second. Alice looked like she hadn't quite been expecting that answer.

_But then, what was she expecting?_

Joe turned away. Alice was silent, looking for something to say. And then—

Charles burst in through the door, his face full of panic. "Guys, what the hell!?" he exclaimed. "No one knew where you were!"

"…We're _here_," Joe replied, a bit more forcefully than he intended.

"Well, you gotta play the soldier."

"I thought you were calling Evan!"

"Evan blew us off. He's a pussy!"

Joe winced with his best 'watch your language!' signal. Charles sighed and turned to Alice. "Excuse me."

She laughed. "It's okay."

"But seriously, Joe, I _need_ you on this."

"Charles, I—"

"Please! You gotta do it, you're the only one!"

* * *

><p><em>Cold silver, touching your heart. <em>

_ At first, you imagine it covered in blood, like a nightmare. But then, slowly, you realise it's the most precious thing your dad has ever given you._

_ And somehow, the memories make you strong._

* * *

><p>Cary brushed his fringe to the side and grinned as he saw his reflection in the mirror – blue eyes and blonde hair peeking out from beneath a battered, oversized army helmet. He bent down and picked up the torch and the shovel, held them up by his shoulders.<p>

It was pretty awesome. Kind of stupid at the same time, but mostly awesome.

Behind him, the others were digging through a crate that was just filled with old _stuff_ – binoculars, canteens, hats of all shapes and sizes, even a couple of gas masks. The next scene of the movie features some army characters, so they'd raided the army surplus for costumes to borrow (which the store's owners had _grudgingly_ agreed to). There were shelves piled high with shirts, jackets, pants, ammo tins, sleeping bags, backpacks, tents, all of it coloured in a military shade of green. Big US flags hung from the ceiling. Mannequins dressed in combat gear stood on either side of the dressing rooms, next to an Uncle Sam sign that, sternly, '_One garment at a time in the dressing rooms. No exceptions!"_

Martin had pulled a gas mask over his head, a big plasticky thing with dark goggles. "Charles, next time you fart, I'm gonna wear this," he announced. He tapped Charles' helmet with his knuckles.

"Ow! Hey, what about all those times in chemistry when you—"

"That's the _sulphur_, Charles! That's the _sulphur_!"

"Ugh, it stinks in here." Preston was much less impressed with his mask, so he found a Russian-style fur hat and slipped that on instead, pulling the flaps down over his ears. Cary ran back to the others, his helmet bouncing around haphazardly. "Guys, c'mon! How's it look? Look!" He grabbed his torch and flashed it at Preston's face.

"Argh! Cary, that's not good for my eyes!"

Then Alice walked past, wearing a dark green army jacket that was a little too big; she went over to the rack and dug around for a smaller one.

Charles saw her and called her over. "Alice! Alice!" He'd found another gas mask, a black one, with a long pipe attached to the breather that made it look like an elephant's trunk. He did his best girly death scream and shook his head from side to side. "_Aiiiieeeeee!"_

"Calm down, you freak!" Cary laughed. He grabbed a pair of binoculars and shoved them up to his eyes – just as Joe appeared around the corner.

Relucantly.

He was wearing a button-up collared shirt, with a belt and olive-green pants. A blue officer's beret was perched atop his forehead.

"I don't wanna do this," he said quietly.

Everyone turned to look.

"Production value!" Charles shouted. He did a mock salute.

"It looks gnarly dude," Cary reassured him.

Martin nodded. "It's not that bad."

"But it's not _comfortable_."

"Dude, it looks great. Just go with the flow."

"It's good," Preston echoed.

Joe did not look convinced. He just stood there, blinking nervously.

Then Alice walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "C'mere." She led him back around the corner.

The others were all stunned for a moment.

Martin coughed and adjusted his glasses. Cary took off the helmet and turned it over in his hands.

Then he snickered. "Heh heh."

"Ooooooooh!…" Preston made a kissing face. For once, Charles seemed lost for words.

"What?" Martin shrugged. "It's just a dressing room."

* * *

><p>Alice pushed Joe in ahead of her and shut the door with a soft <em>click<em>. Technically, Martin was right – it _was_ just a dressing room, a tiny concrete cubicle with rough walls and chipped white paint. Joe stood there awkwardly, still kind of angry that Charles had forced him into this, still not sure what was happening.

But if Joe was confused, Alice definitely wasn't. She spotted what she was looking for and picked it up from where it lay in the corner, on top of Joe's neatly-folded jeans. A glint of silver.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly.

Alice didn't reply. She just turned to him, took off his beret, and slipped the chain around his neck. Metal brushed through his hair; the comforting weight of it settled against his chest. She tucked it under his shirt, quick and businesslike, then did up his top button and brushed down his shoulders. The beret went back on top his head.

"There," she said. "You're ready."

He felt himself smile, just a little.

* * *

><p>Jack sat in the Deputy's office, filling out reports. He noticed that he was doing that a lot these days – more paperwork, less policework. It seemed to come with the rank.<p>

This report, in particular, concerned Debbie's twenty missing microwaves. Someone had gone down and interviewed a bunch of witnesses, who had, of course, seen nothing. It was baffling. One or two microwaves, sure, even five – but twenty? That was something else. The whole _week_ had been something else.

The station was still filled with people. More reports were piled up on his desk, burying his current case files in yellow sheets of paper, and since the Sheriff was still missing he'd had to deal with all of Pruitt's stuff too. _Missing, for now. Probably dead. But we'll stick with missing, at least until things are a little more sane around here._

There was a knock on the door. It was Deputy Tally; Jack beckoned him in. "What've you got?"

"Good new, I guess," Tally replied. "They've found your dog."

"Where?"

"…Brookville."

Jack was stunned. "Well what the hell do you mean they found my dog in Brookville? That's another county over!"

"Lucy, that's where she is," Deputy Tally said helplessly. "I mean, we've got nearly thirty calls from people who found local dogs, but the thing is, the calls coming in aren't local. Here." He laid down a big sheet of A3 on the desk. On it was a map of the nearby counties; there was Lillian, roughly in the middle, with the city of Dayton to the east and the state border to the west. A bunch of red dots had been drawn in with a red pen – thirty, maybe forty of them, each with a name above it, showing where the missing dogs had been picked up.

But the dots weren't random.

On the map, they made a circle. A thirty-mile circle, with Lillian in the middle.

"It's like they all just… ran away, in every direction," Tally said quietly. "Just ran away…"

Jack stared at the map. _Running from _what_?_

* * *

><p>Today, Deputy Rosko was on desk duty. He ran some fingers through his neatly combed hair and pulled out a pen. "So how long has she been missing?"<p>

"Three hours, maybe four. Since breakfast."

"Are you sure she didn't just walk over to a friend's house? It happens more often than you'd think."

"Yes, I'm sure! This isn't like her, she just doesn't disappear!"

He put on his best I'm-a-policeman-and-I-can-help voice. "Okay okay, calm down, you're right to be concerned. Just tell me what she looks like."

"I… she's got dark hair. It was in rollers. Do you know what rollers are?"

"Yes, I know what rollers are."

"Okay, so she was—"

There was a stack of radios on Rosko's desk –a big police radio, a ham receiver, and Milner's voice inverter hooked up to them both. Suddenly, one of them started chattering.

_"Have you been able to recover?"_

"Hang on." Rosko slid over and twisted the dials; the signal was almost overcome with static. Then a reply: _"…Negative, unable to recover data."_

"I'm sorry, could you just wait for one second? Hey!" he called out. "Jack, Milner, get over here!"

They came running, Milner from his desk, Jack from his office with Tally in tow. "You got a signal?" Jack asked, sliding into the nearest chair.

"Yeah, I've got one. Faint, but it's there. Listen."

_"…so only carriage two wasn't breached?"_

_ "Yes. Confirmed." _

Jack looked up. "When'd you start getting it?"

"Just now."

They strained to hear it, leaning in close. There was a beeping sound just audible under the crackling, like some sort of code checker. "…_Roger. We're moving it back to Greenville base tomorrow."_

"Greenville? That's definitely Air Force," Rosko declared.

Tally nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's Air Force, but what does it mean? What are they doing transmitting on these frequencies?"

_"…I repeat: negative, unable to recover data."_

_ "Then stage two is a go."_

"Maybe it's not even Air Force," Milner suggested.

"I bet you five bucks it's Air Force."

"Five bucks?"

"Yeah!"

_"…Affirmative. We're gonna need units to prepare for Operation Walking Distance."_

_ Click._

Abruptly, the signal fell silent.

Rosko frowned. "What did he say? 'Operation' what?"

"'Walking Distance,'" Jack murmured in reply. "Operation 'Walking Distance.'"

_Walking distance…_

_Missing people, mysterious broadcasts, microwaves stolen in the night. It's like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces, while the pieces you do have are all scuffed and faded and barely readable at all. What does it all mean? What is it leading to? _

_The Air Force came looking for something. The animals ran away from something. It seems… reasonable to think that, just maybe, those 'somethings' are the same thing, with little old Lillian stuck right in the middle of it. Thousands of scared people, stuck right in the middle. __This is going to end badly, unless we work out what's going on._

_I know it. __I just know it._


	10. The Soldier, Part 1

_Random note #1: You have no idea how annoying it is for me to write "mom" instead of "mum". I like my U's, okay?_

_Random note #2: I just noticed that Cary's wearing a bandage on his hand for the entire movie. That's a cool little detail I'm going to have to chuck in somewhere._

_Random note #3: A lot of people have asked me how long it takes to write these chapters. It's probably about twelve hours total, spread out over a week or two._

_Random note #4: Had a cool idea for the semi-mythical 'sequel story' that would make it pretty interesting (and much more sci-fi). We'll see..._

_Enjoy the chapter! There's some pretty sad stuff in this one, so I hope I've done it justice :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Soldier<span>

Joe waited awkwardly on the corner of South and 29th, resplendent in his new air force costume. Martin stood opposite, wearing his detective's jacket and a particularly sloppy tie. Behind them, _actual _air force men were walking back and forth – perhaps a dozen of them, buzzing around the house on the corner, ferrying boxes in and out the front door.

A couple of the neighbours had come out to watch. The boxes were all the same type, the sort of flimsy cardboard thing you'd use to store old papers; company records maybe, or receipts. A waist-high wall of them was stacked up on the sidewalk next to a couple of parked jeeps and trucks, and every thirty seconds another man would come out and add to the pile.

"What are they doing?" Cary whispered. "Whose house is it?"

Preston shrugged. "Maybe we should ask." The others were all clustered around Cary and the camera – Charles with his headphones, Preston with the script, and Alice, doing Joe's job and holding up the boom mike.

So far, they'd been pretty much ignored, but the whole situation still made Joe nervous. Well, more nervous; _the Air Force are meant to be looking for us, aren't they_? He glanced behind him, at the house. It was beige brick, sitting on a little hill, with a couple of big windows and a neatly trimmed lawn. No one seemed to be home.

_Ugh, don't think about that now. Think about your lines. Think about what you're going to do. Don't be too obvious, don't be too subtle, just act natural_—

"Joe! You ready?" Charles called out.

"Uhh… I guess?"

"Great. Okay, everyone quiet. Three, two, one, action!"

The film reel started whirring. Joe jerked into action and handed a manila folder to Martin, stained a little from his sweaty fingers.

"What's this?" Martin asked.

"He worked at Romero – Chemical. Found out some things, the company was doing. And after what you told me last night at the bar… I thought you should know."

Martin flicked through the folder. Behind him, one of the air force men heaved a box into a waiting truck.

"Are – are we gonna get in trouble for being here?" Cary whispered.

"Shhh!" Charles retorted. "Production value. It's production value."

"Stop _talking_ about production value, I think the Air Force is gonna kill us!"

"Cary. Shut up."

"Don't you think it's just a little bit—"

"Shhh." Charles kept watching the scene and absently shoved his hand over Cary's mouth, who slapped it away irritably. "Don't – cover my mouth!"

"…We just made this discovery today," Joe said seriously, ignoring the catfight behind the camera. "You understand this is top secret?"

"Of course." Martin nodded grimly.

"I would never have given you this information unless we had worked together in Vietnam."

"Those were hard times."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Alice smiled as she watched Joe _act_, standing up straight, stumbling over his lines a little but generally getting through them okay. Suddenly, she heard the sound of an approaching engine; she glanced down the hill and saw a lone police car threading its way along the street. Coming towards them.

She wondered who it was, and immediately got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Understood," Martin was saying. "You're a good friend."

"You too."

* * *

><p>Colonel Nelec stood by the front window of the house. He was an imposing figure in green and blue, his craggy face half in shadow (even with the curtains open, it was dark and gloomy inside), and he watched his men go through boxes, drawers, desks, looking for one specific thing – one specific, VERY important thing.<p>

They hadn't found it yet, which annoyed him. It also made him slightly nervous. As he stood there, waiting by the window, Sergeant Overmeyer walked over with some more bad news. "Nothing so far," he murmured.

Nelec sighed. "How much more is there?"

"About sixty more boxes in the basement."

"What – more tax returns?" He rolled his eyes.

"…It's here somewhere," Overmeyer replied confidently. "We'll find it. If not, Woodward will tell us where it is."

"Let's hope so. But I'd rather get it without his help." Nelec looked out the window, and suddenly noticed a group of schoolkids standing on the corner. They appeared to have some sort of movie camera and were _filming_ in front of the house. "What the hell is that?"

* * *

><p>The police car crunched to a stop next to one of the waiting air force trucks, a couple of metres from where they were filming. Cary was the first to notice who was sitting behind the wheel. "Joe," he murmured.<p>

Joe turned around.

It was his father. Sitting behind the windscreen and looking right at them, jaw clenched. After a second or two he switched off the engine and stepped out of the car.

"Hey Mr Lamb!" Preston said brightly.

Jack ignored him and walked straight over to Joe, quick and angry. "Get in the car," he said tersely.

Martin stared open-mouthed. The others exchanged confused glances.

Joe just stood there. His dad began dismantling the camera, snatching it from Cary's hands and pulling it off the tripod. Screws clattered to the pavement. Once he had it free, he walked back to his son, slapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward the car, not saying a word. Alice had to dodge out of the way.

"Mr Lamb, that's your camera, but… technically that's my film," Charles called after him.

No reply. Jack just stalked over to the police car and opened the door, shoved Joe into the passenger seat, tossed the camera in after him. He shot a venomous glare at Charles, then walked off towards the house without a backwards glance.

Stunned silence.

Joe sat alone in the back of the car, feeling angry and sullen and helpless. The others could only stand and stare, annoyed and confused and afraid.

"_What the hell!"_ Charles mouthed at him.

Alice frowned, tapped her chest. _"Is it me?"_

Joe shook his head. Sometimes, it was better to lie.

* * *

><p>Colonel Nelec walked down to the garden, casually, confidently, taking in the sunshine. His boots crunched on the dry grass as he made his way over to the police officer who was standing on the lawn. Jack was tense, coiled up with anger, his hands planted on his hips; anger at his son, at himself, at the goddamned US Air Force. In contrast, Nelec was the picture of control, and as he came to a stop he clasped his hands behind his back.<p>

The military man was taller and Jack had to look up to meet his eyes. There was silence for a moment.

Then: "No more games. I want you to tell me what's going on."

"I would like to help you out, Deputy. I really would. But we operate on a need to know basis."

Nelec smiled. Jack ignored him. "Why're you're trucks sweeping the town?" he asked.

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's classified. We will be out of your way shortly_._"

"All right, then I'm sure you won't mind me contacting D.C," Jack said pointedly. "Talk to some friends about 'Walking Distance'."

Nelec was good; he barely reacted. But one of the men behind him twitched at the name.

Still, there was no reply.

"All right, we'll do it that way." Jack turned and started walking back to the car, and got about half-way there before Nelec called out after him.

"Deputy! Let's talk…"

He stopped.

"...Just not here."

* * *

><p>Joe peered through the car window at the two men talking. He wondered what his stupid dad wanted; half a minute ago he'd started walking away, but then the air force colonel had called him back.<p>

A couple of quick nods. He saw them shake hands.

Charles and Alice and the others were still standing there awkwardly, looking at him with concern on their faces. Once again, his dad was ruining _everything_. His whole stupid summer. He clenched his fists, ground his boot into the floor, so hard that it hurt. Angry and sick and sad, all at the same time.

_Alice..._

Overhead, the sun beat down from a pale blue summer sky.

* * *

><p>A photo sits on a table in a tarnished old frame. In it, there are three people, sitting on the grass by a red-painted swingset.<p>

Jack Lamb is one of them. He looks younger, carefree. Happy. Joe's there too, looking about five or six, kneeling behind his parents and smiling adorably. Jack rests his chin upon the shoulder of a beautiful woman, holding her in his arms; she has long brown hair and a kind face and stares at the camera with dark, enigmatic eyes. Her name was Elizabeth.

The photo sits there as it always has, on a table by the window.

A key clicks into the lock.

A rattle. The silence is disturbed. The front door suddenly swings open and Jack strides through. A second later, Joe follows. He's still wearing the air force uniform, a pretend solider, the blue beret clutched in his hand.

"This is new, all of this, for the both of us," Jack says tersely. He shuts the door. It's not quite a slam. "Dealing with anything. Just us. So, I'm gonna make this as simple and as clear as I can."

He walks to the table and throws down his keys. Joe stops in the middle of the room, red-faced, unable to react. "You're not friends with Alice Dainard. When I say 'no,' I don't mean 'maybe'… I don't mean 'yes'… I mean '_NO_.'"

He pushes past into the study and slaps the camera down on his desk, glares at his son; then starts going through a drawer, speaking quickly. "I've known Louis Dainard for a lot of years. He's been nothin' but trouble. Your mother used to say he's not such a bad guy, he just needs a chance, that he was _sad_." He looks up. "Well, I tried to be good to him. And I can't, not anymore."

Jack shuts the drawer, walks over, looks his son right in the eye. Joe stands there sullenly and meets his gaze.

"I will not allow _him_ or his daughter in this house," Jack says forcefully. "I will _not_ allow you to spend time with her, doing projects or _whatever it is that you do_. That's it. I hope we're clear on that."

He pushes past again, bumping Joe's shoulder.

Joe doesn't react for a moment. Then he speaks up for the first time.

"We're not clear."

His father turns on him, voice full of menace. "What'd you say?"

He stands his ground. "We're _not clear_."

"Joseph Francis Lamb—"

"You and I aren't clear about _anything_. We couldn't be LESS CLEAR." Anger, indignation, helpless fury. "Just because _mom_ died doesn't mean you know anything about me. You DON'T. You don't know anything about Alice, either. She's KIND."

"We're not gonna have this discussion right now—"

"She's _NICE_ TO ME!"

Joe had never yelled at his father before, not once – but here he was, screaming in the living room with tears forming in his eyes.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT SHE IS! Her father is an irresponsible, selfish son of a _bitch!_" Jack takes takes a sharp breath, tendons bulging in his neck. His voice goes down to a whisper which is somehow even worse. "Now, you_ listen_ _to me_. I've got 12,000 people in this town who're scared out of their mind. They've got one person to rely on. It used to be someone else, but now it's just me."

And then…

…they stand there, breathing heavily, their faces inches apart. Joe, red-faced, about to cry. His father, mouth twitching, the fury in his eyes gradually fading. Giving way to uncertainty.

Jack turns away and walks to the door, steps through and slams it behind him as quick as he came in.

Sudden silence.

A quiet house.

Joe sniffs, and wipes frustrated tears from his cheeks.

* * *

><p>Riding. The click of the wheels, the buzz of the chain, the handlebars cold beneath his fingers. Joe pedalled up the hill, past weatherboard houses and dark, empty cars. The army uniform was gone, traded for his old blue jacket and jeans and a backpack across his shoulders. At the top of the hill there was a big grassy area surrounded by a chain-link fence; Joe crossed the street and rode through the open gate.<p>

The cemetery was beautiful at this time of night.

A vast, rolling field, surrounded by the remnants of ancient forest – oaks, ashes, pines, looming thick and dark. A cluster of white-painted funeral buildings with the old water tower perched in the distance. Gravel paths, criss-crossing the grass, dotted with flowers. The sky was a gentle pink, mixed with grey, and the air was perfectly still.

And the graves. So many graves, stretching over the hill.

There was only one that mattered.

* * *

><p>Some time before, night had fallen. Crickets chirped from the trees; streetlights twinkled in the distance. Joe sat with his back to the cold, hard stone, staring blankly across the grass.<p>

He missed her.

_Elizabeth Lamb_

_May 26, 1942_

_February 3, 1979_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

So, so much.

They said it was good to feel sad, that he should always cherish her memory. They said it would take time. And he knew he was getting better. But sometimes, he would be mucking around with Charles or eating dinner with his dad and something would happen and that painful, incredible emptiness would flare up red and raw all over again. He always came here thinking it would help, thinking that just _being _here, close to her, would somehow fill the hole left in his heart.

It never did. It was all he could do to try.

The locket was cold in his hands. Silver, glinting in the starlight.

_ And every day, you forget something else about her, what her hair felt like, how she laughed, some other golden memory. So you try to remember. You keep it around your neck and feel it against your chest and hope it'll somehow keep her near. You keep trying to hold onto her even though she's gone forever. Is that so wrong? _ He clicked the locket open and held it up to his face, stared at the tiny photo inside.

A smile every day when he came home from school. A kiss on the cheek on a cold winter's night. Always that same longing – the need to feel close to her one last time.

The crickets chirped in amusement.

A bouquet of old flowers was propped against the grave. He and his dad had put it there last week. It had seemed like an important gesture, at the time, but it was just one of many – one of thousands. Thousands of granite headstones, arranged in neat little lines, dotted with rumpled flags and flowers of their own.

_We all miss them._

_But we can never bring them back._

His dad should've been able to understand. He should've been the only person who _could_ understand, except he… didn't.

_'Just because mom died doesn't mean you know anything about me. You DON'T.'_

Or maybe he did understand. It was impossible to know, and that was the single most frustrating thing about it. Jack Lamb just kept it all inside, behind a clenched jaw and sad eyes, pretending that things were normal. Pretending that they were _all right_.

They weren't. And Alice had been the only thing that he could hold onto.

He'd known her less than a week, but somehow, with her, he didn't feel alone. Instead, he felt happy. He felt _whole. _He could smile, laugh, in a way that he couldn't with Charles and his other friends. He could talk. She _understood_. And now, his dad was trying to take it all away.

Alice wasn't her father. She was different. And she hadn't had anything to do with…

With…

_Clang!..._

Joe looked up. A faint crashing noise, somewhere in the distance.

_Crunk!_

And there it was again – louder, this time. He jumped to his feet, peering into the darkness.

After a moment, he knelt down and rummaged around in his backpack for his flashlight. He switched it on and held it out in front of him. Pale white light swept over the cemetery, over crosses and flowers and neatly-trimmed grass.

_Clang!..._

His breath caught in his throat. He whirled around, holding the torch like a weapon. As his imagination took over, Joe began to think that being all alone, in a cemetery at night, probably wasn't such a good idea.

Graves, trees, shadows.

Irrational fears.

_Crunk!_

There was a gravedigger's storage shed at the eastern end of the cemetery, a square white building with a tiled roof and big gated doors. Something was going on inside; the lights were on, but they were… flickering, and there was this low thudding, scratching noise. And, peering closer, he could see stuff flying past the windows – dirt, it looked like. Clumps of dirt, as if a dog was digging a hole.

A really BIG dog.

_Crash!_

Suddenly, a shadow pressed itself up against the window.

He ran.

* * *

><p>She had pale skin and a beautiful, open face, and she held a baby in her arms – a few months old, with dark eyes and the thinnest brown hair.<p>

She smiled. It was a warm smile, infectious, even through the ghostly light of the projector.

Joe couldn't help smiling a little too.

She looked up and said something to the camera, made a face. There was no sound, but he could imagine her voice. The camera moved closer and suddenly the baby woke up, began to squeal, reaching for his mother's face.

_'Go away!' _she mouthed, laughing. _'You're scaring him.'_

The person behind the camera loved them both very much. You could see it in the way the camera moved, the way it focused on that smile.

She was twenty-four years old.

The projector whirred softly. Joe lay on the floor of his bedroom, leaning on his arms, staring up at the images that danced upon the wall. His face was bathed in pale, flickering light, keeping the darkness at bay.

As soon as he'd got home, he'd found the plastic bag of film reels he kept on the top shelf of his cupboard and had been watching them ever since. Not because he was scared – he'd forgotten the shadow in the cemetery as soon as he'd come through the door. But because…

Remembering was nice. Remembering was all he had.

She leaned against a fence, somewhere in their garden, surrounded by a tangle of overgrown bushes. Her hair fell freely around her shoulders, around the straps of her summer dress. She was answering a question, speaking to the camera. Speaking to his father. She touched one of her earrings absently.

She was twenty-six years old.

The projector buzzed, and suddenly cut out.

Silence. Blackness. Joe frowned, waited to see if it would come back on. He leaned over and flicked the switch a few times, but – nothing. Then he checked his alarm clock, and sighed disappointedly. The screen was dark; another power failure.

He stared blankly at the wall, lost in memories.


	11. The Soldier, Part 2

_Author's Note: Sorry for the wait, but it's the last few weeks of semester and exams are coming up and my head should really be filled with atomic physics and complex numbers rather than kids and aliens. This chapter is REALLY short, but I'll be able to write again at the end of November so look forward to more then._

_And if you're still reading this BEASBeth, your enthusiasm is amazing! It's comments like yours that make writing feel 'worth it' (and that goes for all my reviewers). I've moved most of your comments to the end of this chapter to avoid cluttering up the reviews page TOO much, and I'll try and keep updating this chapter with any replies to your reviews :-). Thanks!_

* * *

><p><span>The Soldier, Part 2<span>

Jack crept down the hallway as quiet as he could, footsteps muffled on the carpet. The house was dark, almost pitch black – except for a sliver of bluish light that flickered from under the door at the end of the hall.

He stopped before the door and leant close to the wood. After a second, he began to hear a soft _whirr_, barely audible.

He listened for a moment.

Then he stepped back out into the hall. He picked up his gun from the dinner table and clipped on his badge.

A minute later, the police car pulled out of the driveway and sped off into the night.

* * *

><p>The car swung through the gates of the Lillian Airfield with the moon shining bright overhead. Jack sat behind the wheel, filled with purpose. Jazz crackled from the radio.<p>

_'Meet me at the airfield,_' Nelec had said. '_Midnight tonight, but not a word to anyone else… I'll show you the answers you've been looking for.'_

In all likelihood, there wouldn't be any answers, and he'd be turned around and sent straight back home.

But he had to take the chance. _All you've got to lose is another good night's sleep._

The airfield was fairly small, as airfields went, and set on the outskirts of town. It was mainly used for cargo these days; the processing terminal was a low-roofed building on the eastern side of the taxiway, surrounded by big steel sheds. A single plane was parked in the distance. Two runways were cut into the surrounding field, lit by the moonlight.

He drove onto the tarmac. The suspension squeaked. Air force trucks were parked in a line by the fence, next to baggage trucks and sets of passenger-boarding steps.

_FLASH! _Suddenly Jack was blinded by bright white light. He stepped on the brakes, raised a hand to shield his eyes, and saw…

A semicircle of jeeps blocking off the taxiway with their headlights pointed straight at him. Silhouetted soldiers knelt on the tarmac, with poses that said '_I am holding a gun and I am ready to use it.'_

The police car rolled to a stop.

Jack stepped out of the car, more confused than anything. He glanced behind him and saw another two jeeps swing out of the darkness. A dozen more air force men piled out and raised their weapons.

Then a voice, on the loudspeaker: _"Deputy, drop your weapons and put your hands on the car."_

Jack didn't move. "I'm here to see Colonel Nelec!" he shouted, squinting into the light. "He told me to meet him here!"

"_You're under military arrest. Drop your weapons."_

Silence, for a moment. Jack stared into the mouths of a dozen gun barrels.

"Where's Nelec?" he asked desperately.

_"Deputy, I won't tell you again. _Drop_ your weapons."_

"WHERE'S NELEC!?"

* * *

><p>Colonel Nelec was barely two hundred feet away, standing with his arms folded over a clean military hospital bed. Sergeant Overmeyer waited next to him, arms clasped behind his back.<p>

The aircraft shelter had been converted into a sickbay. Ten beds were arranged along the walls, five to a side, separated by clear plastic sheeting. Lights hung from the curved roof. Next to each bed was a small table, holding trays of surgical equipment and grimy heartbeat monitors.

All of the beds were empty, except one.

The body was covered in a clean blue blanket. A heartbeat monitor beeped softly in the background. "I don't want any more trouble, do you?" Nelec murmured. "Hmm?"

Dr. Glen Woodward stared up at him. Deep bloody cuts were scratched across his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. The bandages stuck to his face were soaked through with pus and blood. His wrists were tied to the bedframe with thick leather straps. But his eyes were as fierce and bright as they always had been, the same bright eyes that had scared so many of the kids at Lillian Middle School.

Sick, scarred, but very much alive.

"We've been going through your belongings, looking for evidence," Nelec said slowly. "What you knew. How you knew it." He paused. "Who _else_ might know."

Woodward's mouth twitched, but he stayed silent. Flies buzzed through the hangar, settling in the dried blood on his face.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

Nelec leant down over the bed, until their faces were inches apart. "You know, Glen – I remember you," he began. "I remember you in the lab. And I recall we didn't always see eye to eye, but that… is no excuse for doing what you did here."

Woodward stared.

Nelec smiled. He had a patient, sing-song voice, like he was scolding a petulant child. "So in… the spirit of moving forward and avoiding more _trouble_, why don't you just tell me where you put your research. And who else knows about it. I know you had someone document the crash that night. Tell me who that was and I will help you. I swear to God on my mother's life, if you help us now we _will_ take care of you."

Across the room, Overmeyer filled a syringe with the contents of a bottle. The bottle was small and yellow, with the symbol for 'poison' etched into the side.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

"I've seen… what happens, Mr Nelec… when you take care of people," Woodward said quietly.

"I'm being genuine, doctor."

"No… you aren't. You never are. And something like him doesn't… _deserve_ the likes of you—

"It is _MINE!_" Nelec interrupted. "He is _MINE_. I'm gonna bait him, and catch him."

"You'll try."

_Beep… beep… beep…_

"He's in me... you know," Woodward said cryptically.

Nelec frowned. "What?"

"…He's_ in_ me. As I am in him. So…"

He coughed. There was an air of finality to his words

"So… when you see him next, as I'm _sure_ you will… _I'll be watching you too_."

Eyes, filled with... _belief_. Nelec leant back – unsettled, just for a moment.

_I'll be watching you too._

He stepped away from the bed and gave Overmeyer a nod.

The syringe was injected into a drip, taped into the doctor's arm.

_Beep… beep… beep… beep beep beep beep—_

The doctor's body jerked upward as if a million volts of electricity was suddenly coursing through his veins. Muscles locked, and shivered, his head jolting from side to side. Arms struggled against their restraints. The bed shuddered.

Overmeyer looked on passively. The syringe was still in his hand.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep—_

Woodward kept shaking, one arm pulling outward and smashing into a table, sending bottles crashing to the ground. A guttural groan escaped his lips, eyes wide, staring, almost entirely black. He struggled, this way and that—

_Beeeeeeeeeeeee—_

Struggled, and—

—_eeeeee—_

Struggled, and—

—_eeeeee—_

…fell still.

—_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

Nelec looked away, his jaw clenched, and waited for the doctor to die.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay! That's it for now. So, if you're not the mysterious BEASBeth, you should probably ignore this section. In fact, you should just go right ahead and skip to the next chapter. I hear it's pretty good ;-)<strong>

**The Box - 10/3/12 - Chapter 10**

Hey BEASBeth! I'm Australian, so hopefully that explains any odd spellings and word usage (Australian English is pretty heavily derived from British English). And the official deleted/extended scenes are:

- Joe and Charles talking about Alice driving in the shop

- Joe typing out the new scenes after they get back from the train crash

- Joe explaining his new scenes (zombie Alice!) to Charles the next morning

- Jack walking around inside the ruined gas station

- Jack talking inside the car dealership

- Joe's "stop being friends with Alice" talk outside the diner

- Most of the stuff where Joe is looking for his dog

- Joe's big speech about dry brush technique

- Trying on the military costumes in the shop

- Joe watching his mother's movies after the cemetery

And still to come (potential spoilers, I guess?):

- A new goodbye scene after Alice visits in the night

- More of Colonel Nelec and the white cubes

- Jack and Louis Dainard finding Joe's abandoned bag

- Joe and Cary seeing coffins in the alien's tunnels

The stuff I've added on my own isn't particularly significant. There's a few bits of dialogue (such as Cary and Preston at the beginning of this chapter) and some introduction/transition-y stuff that isn't explicitly stated in the movie (such as when Nelec talks to Jack in this chapter), but it really is only a couple of lines here and there. And of course, any 'inner thoughts' the characters have are all made up. I think the biggest new scene is Joe mowing the lawn at the beginning of chapter 8, because that was literally a two-second shot in the movie and I felt like doing something with it.

Anyway, hope that answers your questions. Thanks for the reviews!

**BEASBeth - 10/5/12 - Chapter 10**

Yay! Thanks for answering my questions (the only scene I've found is the coffins in the tunnels scene :( YouTube is sometimes the greatest place for stuff like that. Sigh. There's always Netflix.)

Also, what are you guys having? 'Spring'? What's that like?

(btw, I have nothing against you liking your 'U's or you writing with your native accent. I do the same thing. We New Yorkians- state not city- tend to slur together words and pronounce words like 'to' and 'the' as t' and th'. For example, if I said:

"Sometimes it seems like all I ever do is lie. My mom thinks I'm repressing my feelings about this. I say to her, "No, Mom, I'm not. I think it's really neat. As long as you're happy, I'm happy. Mom says, "I don't think you're being honest with me." Then she hands me this book.  
>(The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot, page 1)<p>

Yeah. I'd say all that as:

Somtimesitseemslikalli-verdoiz-lie. Mymom-inkzI'mrepresingmyfeelingzabouthis . I-zatoer (pronounce the IZA as you would 'Isaiah' or 'Isaac' and 'toer' rhymes with 'doer') "nomomI'mnot. Ithinkitzrealyneet. AzLung-azyurappy-I'mappy." momsayz, "idon'thinkyurbeinones-wime." (the E at the end is pronounced; like AphroditE) Thenshe-andsmethiz-buk. ... Etc. basically, just slur the words together REALLY FAST and you'll get the intended effect)

Sorry to junk up the server (and you comments page)! And do consider writing that sequel! (I love it when you authors respond and mention the. Name I give; I feel like I'm being immortalized 3333!)

**BEASBeth - 10/9/12 - Chapter 10**

are you o.k.? Man, none of the authors seem to be updating lately. (well, I take that back; none of the authors I read are updating.) I'm gonna try to say the same thing I posted to Bri-Emily's story (I basically gave 20 different excuses as to why she can't update- I'll try to type the ones I gave her from memory, plus add so more) :):):):):)

You:  
>1) are sick with a nasty coldbug/flu; hope you feel better soon!  
>2) are taking some well-deserved RnR; enjoy your vacation<br>3) too busy to update; I know how you feel, an I hope the workload narrows down soon  
>4) are in a mental ward<br>5) got hit by a bus  
>6) are fighting a crocodile in the sewer somewhere<br>7) lost your lucky flash drive and are now unable to write  
>8) are being held ransom by rival fanfictionists who despise your work (the fiends!)<br>9) broke your typing hand in a horrible accident involving a rabid woodchuck, a screwdriver, a cucumber, and an x-ray machine (sorry, these things just come to me- hope they are making you laugh)  
>10) have gone completely mental off your rocker and are being shipped off to the funny farm as I type this and cannot come in contact with a pencil, much less an electronic device, such as a computer, or a laptop, or a cell-phone  
>11) decided to switch jobs with Wiley Coyote for a day and spent the rest of the week in the hospital because Warner Bros. forgot to give you invincibility against all the anvils and cannons that come flying at you<br>12) were hit by Calvin's transmogrifier and are now a monkey, and we now have to wait several years before you type out the next chapter (because we only have one of you, and we don't exactly have an infinite amount of time)  
>13) got pushed down a well and are now stuck in another world (but hey, ya get to marry Patrick Dempsey, that's something, right?)<br>14) are stuck to the ceiling because wherever you are the gravitation pull reversed  
>15) enlisted and they called your number (all joking aside, that's a horrible thought)<br>16) got sucked into a story (literally)  
>17) became Joel Courtney's love slave (how do I join?) (I was gonna say sex slave, but I figured that 'love slave' was a lot nicer and more vague) (is it that obvious that I have a TINY thing for him? Follow that puddle of drool...)<br>18) are floating in hyperspace... AND THE MARTIANS ARE ATTACKING! AUUUGGGHHHHHH!  
>19) are on a date and have been so busy planning it that you haven't been able to update<br>-and finally-  
>20) are saving your hometown from an arachnid-like extra-terrestrial that can form a mind-link with humans using only one touch (only promise me that YOU won't let go of the locket)<p>

Hope you enjoyed these (or if they at least have you a good laugh)! (and now for more...!)

21) were abducted by a kangaroo because the mama couldn't find an adequate babysitter for the day  
>22) got stuck in the Sidney opera house<br>23) decided to go off and help find Nemo  
>24) went scuba diving and became so mesmerized by the beautiful tropical fish that you're still there as I type this<br>25) went on vacation to Singapore, forgot they outlaw gum-chewing and are now doing time in a Singaporan (Singaporean? Singaporian?) prison until your lawyer can get there  
>26) decided today was the day to buy a copy of Lorraine Kupka's 5 Steps to Madcap Flare, and then spent weeks poring over the sacred tome (btw the book DOES exist, I happen to know the author, and I also happen to know that she sold at least two copies in Austrailia, so it's at least a possibility that you bought a copy. How do I know this? Because every time I see her office, she has this HUGE map with pins stuck in every city she has sold a book; I think she sold 1 in Perth, and 1 in Sydney) anyway...<br>27) realized a huge part of your stress/writer's block was because of your readers hounding you day and night, and decided that you would turn off the computer and take a break  
>28) accidentally looked at Medusa and are now a statue<br>29) sang "I Could've Danced all Night" all night long, and we're soooo tired the next morning that you got a little behind  
>30) were zapped with the mummy's curse<p>

(sorry- I keep using these 'reviews' as if they're 'comments') better end it here- otherwise I could hurt the server [not really])

**BEASBeth - 10/12/12 - Chapter 10**

I think I'll just be annoying now (sorry. I'm bored! You guys aren't updating!). I'll just keep posting song lyrics on your latest fanfiction post until you update (or send a restraining order ;) )! Anyhoo! And the worst part? I'm making' you all guess what song the lyrics are from they could be easy, hard, or kinda obscure (okay now I'm hoping that you, fUnKyToEs, and Bri-Emily don't update soon because I really wan to step up to this and try to see how many songs I get before you either a) update naturally without lookin at the reviews of b) get fed up and update. So, here we go (I'll give you an easy one) (I thought this one would be a nice song to start with, easy and a classic)

"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartache; whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through! No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing the dreams that you wish will come true."

Happy writing!

**BEASBeth - 11/24/12 - Chapter 10**

TheBox are you okay? Heck, are all the fanfiction writers okay? It seems like people aren't updating much anymore. Ate you guys okay? I hope you're all alright!

**The Box - 11/25/12 - Chapter 11**

Hey! I literally just finished my exams yesterday, so I've only just started work on a new chapter. Should be done in a few days. Most authors tend to update more slowly as stories go on - at the beginning you're all excited and eager to write, set stuff up, etc., but eventually you have to start worrying about characters and plot and making a coherent story... which is harder than it sounds. Since I'm doing a novelisation, that doesn't really apply to me, but my excuse for not updating is basically "schoolwork." Also, you should really get a fanfiction account :-)

**BEASBeth - 03/06/13 - Chapter 1**

Are you ok? It's almost been a month  
>Hope you're ok.<p>

Hope you haven't been:  
>Eaten by a crocodile<br>Swallowed by quicksand  
>Drowned by mermaids<br>Killed brutally then have your entrails ripped out and left to dry by Jack the Ripper  
>Forced to walk the ...plank by pirates<br>Sucked into a black hole  
>Trapped in a bird cage that has no wifi and zero reception<br>Swallowed by an anaconda  
>Attacked by a lion<br>Slimed to death by snails  
>Run over by a cheetah (hmm, the majority of these appear to be animal based...I will work on this)<br>Licked by your dog until you became a raisin (wih raw skin)  
>Eaten by your cat after you fell asleep and heshe assumed you were dead  
>Stalked by a crazed fan<br>Trampled by a mob of love-struck one-directioners on their way to a concert  
>Abducted by aliens (either benevolent, malevolent, curious or time lord)<br>Shot back in time to be French revolution where you were mistaken by a noble and beheaded by the guillotine  
>Accidentally shot by a hunter while on Safari (though what you'd be doing in Africa I have no idea)<br>Caught a cold and took medicine that previously you did not know you had an allergy to  
>Have sword up to the size of a pufferfish and now cannot even speak the words 'I'd like some water please', let alone type a new chapter for fanfiction<br>Was chopped up into kindling by a psycho killer  
>Stung to death by wasps<br>Hid in a clothes dryer  
>Set fire to your head (by mistake, I assume ;) )<br>Tried to get toast out of the toaster with a fork without unplugging it  
>Waded into piranha-infested waters<br>Poked a grizzly bear with a stick  
>Ate medicine past it's experation date<br>Ate a tube of superglue  
>Did your own electrical work (incorrectly)<br>Dressed as a moose then went for a nature walk during hunting season  
>Pressed a big red threatening button that must never, ever, ever be pushed (seriously, this one won't un-hypnotize 13 of the population)  
>Ate an unrefrigerated 2-month old pie<br>Tried to teach yourself how to fly (without looking at the manual beforehand and just pushing random buttons), and crashed...messily  
>Accidentally scratched a drug-dealers new car, and was beaten to death with a baseball bat<br>(for some reason) went to outer space and took your helmet off (I doubt it, but I'm just gonna throw it out there anyway)  
>You bought a rattlesnake as a pet, didn't milk it regularly and were bitten<br>Needed cash, so you sold both your kidneys on the Internet  
>We're not safe around trains<br>(yes I pretty much listed all the examples from the video 'so many dumb ways to die. Sue me- it's cute, creative and informative)

In short I hope you are in lovely health and are just busy :)

**The Box - 04/06/13 - Chapter 1**

Hey BEASBeth, thanks again for the very comprehensive (and painful-sounding) list :-D. Luckily, none of those things have actually happened and I'm basically just busy with exams. But my semester finishes on June 15th so I should be able to update after then!

**The Box - 04/06/13 - Chapter 20**

Hey BEASBeth, the lipstick shirt joke actually is in the movie (it's in the background though). One of the cool things about doing this is discovering all of the little jokes and how much detail was put into every scene - I've only watched the movie the whole way through once, but I must've watched each five-minute section about a dozen times...


	12. Alice

_Author's Note: So! I've been thinking a bit about why I like Super 8 so much. I mean, obviously it's got a great script and good acting and good direction (and ALIENS!), but there's one specific reason that I think made it resonate with me (and it's a bit wanky, so bear with me :-)._

_Basically, I think I watched it at the perfect time of my life, when I was starting university and having to finally deal with being an adult and being independent and having (ugh) responsibilities. I realised that having a group of friends like Joe's and just mucking around was not something I could really do anymore, and… I liked all that stuff! Everyone likes being a kid. Now, obviously you CAN still have friends and do stuff when you're older, but it's not quite the same as when you're still in school, with a big imagination and not a care in the world. It's different._

_And I guess the movie made me think about and recapturing that stuff, and what friends mean to me. Though I'm a bit of a loner in reality (I prefer the term 'independent' :-p), when I think back on all the best times of my life, they were all spent in the company of friends – laughing, talking, going through stuff together, like Joe and his friends in the movie. So, it made me realise… the thing I care most about in the world is friendship._

_TL;DR – friends are awesome. And that's why I like Super 8!_

_EDIT: The amazing speedy3708 sent me some cool links which could lead to some additions to the story. Stay tuned! And, please leave a review if you like the story so far – or even if you don't – because, seriously, it'll BRIGHTEN MY DAY. Thanks!_

_EDIT 2: BEASBeth, I've moved some of your comments to the end of Chapter 11 (The Soldier Part 2) to avoid cluttering up the reviews page TOO much :-). I will also edit that chapter with any replies I make, which seems like an easier way to do things (I get email notifications for any new reviews that are posted, so I should reply within a day or two)._

* * *

><p><span>Alice<span>

_Tap tap tap. _

That was the sound it made in his dream. A tinny, metallic tapping sound, coming from inside the train carriage.

The grass was on fire, and the sky was full of smoke. He was all alone, and he was scared, and he wanted to run to run but an awful, powerful curiosity kept drawing him forward. There was someone inside. Some-_thing_ inside. He leaned closer, reaching out to touch the metal…

_Tap tap tap._

His eyes flicked open.

It took him a second to remember where he was – curled up in bed, surrounded by his models and sheets and messy bedroom. Trying to forget everything and catch a decent night's sleep.

He wondered why he'd woken up; it was still dark outside, probably early morning, with the barest hint of moonlight coming in through the windows.

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Joe frowned and propped himself up on his elbows, blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes. There was that noise again, like someone was—

Alice was standing outside his window.

She totally was. Standing outside the window above his desk, tapping like a friendly ghost. They locked eyes, and she grinned at him from behind the glass. _Tap tap tap!_

Joe got up quickly and kicked off his sheets, suddenly awake. He — CLUNK! — winced as he tripped on a box in the darkness, limped over to the window and fumbled at the lock.

Alice stuck her head through, still smiling. "Are you – were you sleeping?" she asked quietly.

"Before. Earlier… no." He paused. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Awkward pause.

"…You wanna come in?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"O-kay." Joe moved a couple of models that were sitting on the windowsill and pushed the window all the way open. Alice levered herself up and swung her legs through the gap, stepping gingerly onto his desk. Joe took her hand and she jumped down to the ground.

He flicked the light switch a few times but it stayed dark. _Click-click_. _Click-click._

"Power's still out," Alice murmured.

Joe glanced around at all his stuff and smiled. "Room's still messy."

* * *

><p>Alice sat against the end of his bed, knees drawn up against her chest, in jeans and her dusty green jacket. Joe sat across from her in his thin grey pyjama top, cross-legged, against the opposite wall. He'd cleared away most of the clothes and boxes in a little circle – except for the projector, which lay on the floor between them.<p>

"I couldn't sleep," Alice said, looking at him.

"Why?"

"Just – I was thinking. I wanted to tell you something before tomorrow…" She trailed off and shook her head, hair falling around her shoulders. "Don't let Charles blow up your train. I don't think it's right. I know it's for the movie, and I know he's your friend, but he's so bossy—"

"But I've known him since kindergarten," Joe reassured her. "He's – really nice."

"He shouldn't always get what he wants." Her eyes flashed. "...I mean, who always gets what they want."

She looked down. It was quiet for a moment. Outside, the crickets chirped in the warm summer's night.

"I know… I don't know you at all," Alice began. "Even though it – sort of feels like I do…"

She smiled nervously. Joe swallowed, but didn't answer.

"…Do you not – feel like that?"

"No. No, I totally do," he replied quickly. "I'm just kind of… in shock, at this entire conversation."

And then the power came back.

_Clunk._

The projector suddenly flickered to life. Joe and Alice turned to look, surprised. Bluish light splashed against the wall as the film reels started spinning.

_It was his mother. She held him in her arms, still only a baby, smiling as he played with the silver locket that hung around her neck. _

"Power's back," Joe muttered. He scooted along the floor to the projector, was about to turn it off when Alice interrupted him.

"No, no – keep it."

Joe paused, not really sure if he should. Not sure if he wanted her to see. Alice turned back to the movie, leaning forwards, like she was drawn to it. She crawled a little closer to the screen. "Is that her?" she asked.

"Yeah."

After a moment, he sat down on the carpet and started watching too.

_Elizabeth Lamb glanced at the camera, then at Joe in her arms. He was sucking on the silver locket, in that way that a baby sucks on everything, holding it in his pudgy little hands. She kissed his cheek, tried to take it off him. 'No,' she mouthed silently. 'We don't eat that.'_

_Cut to his first birthday party. Joe sitting in a high chair, a party hat upon his head; a birthday cupcake and a single candle mounted on the table. His mother stood by his shoulder and blew the candle out with a single quick puff, as his father clapped beside him. _

_ Suddenly, he was crying. His mother picked him up and held him to her chest._

Silence, except for the soft whirr of the projector. Alice watched the screen intently, couldn't take her eyes away. Joe stared at her back; wondered what she was thinking.

_Now he was four or five years old. Standing against the bathroom wall. His mother straightened up his shoulders, then took a pencil and marked his off his height on the wall. It was an inch or two above the last one._

_ In the garden. Joe held out his arm and pointed at a cut on his wrist, face screwed up in pain. Elizabeth knelt down and kissed it better as his father held the camera, same as always._

_ Then, Christmas morning. A pile of presents, ready to be opened; a tree in the corner, adorned with ornaments and tinsel. Joe was sitting on the floor, unwrapping things gleefully, while his mother had already opened one of hers – a pendant, which she slipped around her neck. _

_ 'It's beautiful,' she mouthed. Then she looked up, _and suddenly it was like she was looking out of the screen, out of the past. At him.

"It's… it's so weird," Joe said, almost whispering. "Watching her like this. Like she's still here."

_He held up his present, a Tinkertoy wooden plane. Elizabeth glanced at the camera with a single knowing smile._

"She used to look at me… this way, like really _look. _And… I just knew that I was there. That I existed."

Alice swallowed. Kept watching the screen. If she'd turned around, Joe would've seen the tears start forming in her eyes.

_Christmas passed. They played outside in the sunshine, lying on the thick green grass. Spinning. The camera zoomed in close, taking in the windswept hair and wide smiles. _

"He drank that morning," Alice said, quivering a little. Still watching the screen, forcing herself to. "My dad. He missed his shift."

_Standing in the trees, in the cool shade. His mother holding him high in the air so that he could flap his arms and pretend that he was flying._

"Your mom took it for him. The day of the accident." Alice sniffed, bit her lip – trying to go on, even as the tears crawled down her cheeks. Just the two of them, sitting in the darkness, with the eerie light of the projector.

A long pause. Joe sat. Waited.

Alice took a breath. "He… He, um… He wishes... I _know_ he wishes it was him instead of her," she said slowly. "And…"

She closed her eyes. "And… sometimes I do, too."

The movie flickered onwards.

"Don't – don't say that. He's your dad," Joe said, as if that fixed everything.

Alice stayed quiet.

Maybe it did.

_Standing in the sand, pushing him on the swing. Higher and higher, full of joy, reaching out to touch the sky. _And right as he reached to top of his swing—

The wall went blank. The film reel spun to a stop, finished.

Then, in the sudden silence – something rattled on Joe's desk. A low, buzzing hum. They turned toward the sound on reflex, Alice with her tear-streaked face, Joe still searching for the right thing to say.

_Bzz-bzz. Bzz-bzz._

It was the cube – the white cube Joe had picked up from the train crash. He'd almost forgotten it was there with the events of the last few days. It was vibrating, almost imperceptibly, dancing around on the surface.

Alice and Joe shuffled over to the desk and knelt down together, peering at the cube. Alice sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Is… is this normal?" she asked, more curious than afraid.

Joe shook his head. "No. This is new."

The cube rattled from side-to-side, making a staccato hum on the wood. He grabbed a pencil and poked it cautiously. The cube made a kind of warbling sound and shuddered away, jittering onto a piece of paper.

Joe looked at Alice with a '_what the hell?' _expression. The cube didn't seem to have changed from before – it was still the same dirty-white colour, the same jagged, pointy shape. Except…

He leaned closer. Suddenly, the shuddering got louder, higher, increasing in pitch and the cube _blurred_ – Alice let out a scream and they leapt backwards, falling to the floor – as the cube left the table and _whizzed_ across the room, blasting through the far wall with an explosive _CRUNCH._

Joe lay there, stunned, his heart pounding. There was now a five-inch hole in his bedroom wall – right in the middle of his space shuttle poster. His model TIE fighter was swinging merrily on its string, knocked aside by the cube's passing.

Eventually, he got to his feet and stumbled over to the wall. Alice followed a second later, staring after the cube, shocked speechless. Joe stopped and put his eye to the hole it'd left, looked through it and saw…

The old water tower. Standing on the hills on the far side of town.

It was almost hidden by the trees and the distance, but he could see the red warning light blinking on top of the tank, could see the metal underside illuminated by a couple of streetlights. It was maybe forty meters tall, standing on three metal legs and looked… the same as always. A tower of shadowy, rusting steel.

He glanced at Alice, then through the hole again, still trickling dust and splintered brick, wondering about that little white cube. Wondering what had happened to the thousands of others that had scattered from the broken train.

* * *

><p>It was a cool night. Still dark, quiet, except for the sodium glare of distant streetlights. As he walked her down to the end of the road, Joe thought about what Alice had said.<p>

There was a _lot_ to think about.

But he didn't say anything. They just walked together down the hill, past the rows of sleeping houses. Alice's bike clicked and squeaked as she pushed it along in front of her. Joe wore his rumpled red dressing gown, the hem dragging along the wet grass. He held two walkie-talkies in his hands. It was a weird kind of silence; not awkward, but it felt like saying something would… break it.

They reached the corner, and stopped.

"You can't not tell anyone," Alice said eventually. Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the night. "You _have_ to tell someone. About the crash. About the cubes."

"I know. I know, I know. I just… don't want you to get in trouble with your dad," Joe replied.

"Don't worry about that. It's fine."

Joe wondered about that. People usually said 'it's fine' when it really, really wouldn't be. Then he remembered something he'd overheard a few nights before; something his dad had said.

"Um. Sorry I didn't tell you before, but… I _think_ they're looking for your dad's car," he said uncertainly.

"Oh?"

"They know someone was there that night and, I don't know… I – I didn't want you to get scared."

It sounded stupid as he said it, but Alice only smiled at him like she always did. "It's okay. But tomorrow morning…"

She looked him right in the eye.

"…you have to tell your dad tomorrow morning."

Joe nodded. Swallowed.

Then he took one of the walkie-talkies he'd been carrying and held it out to her. "Probably won't work all the way to your house, but – we can try," he said brightly.

He grinned. Alice grinned back. She took the radio and clipped it to her jeans, and was about to get on the bike when she… stopped.

Suddenly, Joe became aware of how close they were. Standing on the street corner in the early morning air. Looking at each other. Him with his dressing gown and mussed-up hair, her still holding the bike, silhouetted by the streetlights.

She… leaned towards him a little. Bit her lip, uncertain. Joe couldn't move and just kept looking into her eyes, sparkling blue in the darkness.

Close.

The moment seemed to last forever.

Then her eyes went blank. She tilted her head, half-opened her mouth, twitching and staring at his neck.

Zombie Alice was the best Alice.

She stepped back, laughing softly, and gave him one last smile. Then she jumped on her bike and started rolling down the hill, pedalling faster and faster, getting up to speed. Joe watched her ride, her hair flying out behind her. Not looking back.

He kept watching until she disappeared around the corner.

Joe took a big, deep breath. Breathed out slowly. Then he wrapped the dressing gown around himself and started the walk back up the hill, heart still jumping in his chest.

* * *

><p>She rode like the wind, as fast as she dared. Banked around the corner and up the next hill, passing through the shadows of old, sprawling oak trees. Past empty cars and telephone poles, and neatly-trimmed curbs. Towards home. The road was a pale grey blur beneath the wheels, glinting in the moonlight – an analogy for her thoughts, if you wanted to be poetic. Thoughts about a train, and a movie, and little white cubes. About the military, looking for that old beat-up car. About Joe, and his mother, and pictures on the wall. About her dad.<p>

Of all those things, she only understood two: Joe, and her dad. And of those two, she only cared about one.

A boy, standing on a street corner in his dressing gown. Smiling, and – _knowing._

* * *

><p>Alice slid the key into the lock as softly as she could. Turned it; heard the click. The door swung open and she slipped through, then shut it carefully behind her.<p>

There was a lamp still on in the corner, dim and yellow, casting the front room in shadow. She put the key in the bowl by the door and tiptoed over to the stairs, doing her best to avoid any creaking on the dark wood floorboards. There seemed to be no one awake. She grabbed the banister with one hand and started climbing up—

"Morning."

She froze.

It was last voice in the world she wanted to hear.

"Want to tell me where you were?" her father asked. He was sitting in the dark, in an armchair in the lounge. Awake. And drunk. "…Or should I tell you?"

She climbed back down the stairs, tensed up, mind racing – trying to keep her face unimpressed and unafraid. _Breathe, Alice. Just breathe. _But his voice had that ignorant, bullish tone that she hated _so much—…_

She stopped in the doorway to the lounge and leaned against the wood.

Louis Dainard was sprawled out in his chair, his white shirt unbuttoned at the waist, a lit cigarette in his hand. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the armrest and a beer on the nearby table, amidst the piles of newspapers and old magazines.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing at the closest chair.

Alice shook her head. "I should go to bed."

"I wanna talk to you, I said sit down."

"I don't _want_ to sit down."

"Ally, I'm warning you."

"_No_."

A puff of smoke curled towards the ceiling.

"Then go," Louis said dismissively. "Be just like your mother, and LEAVE."

He was looking right at her when he said it. He wanted it to hurt her.

And it did. It _killed _her. "Dad…"

"Go ahead! Go!" He spread his arms, and when she didn't move he just yelled it louder. "GO!"

So she did.

She ran to the door and burst outside, crying for the second time that night even as she was trying not to. Her feet skidded across the verandah and she ran to her bike, pulled it upright and leapt onto the seat, clutching the handlebars, wobbling as she bounced off the curb.

"Alice!" Louis crashed through the door after her, stumbling down the front steps, yelling with sudden, miserable remorse. "ALICE! Alice, wait!" His shirt flew out behind him as he ran out to the road.

But his daughter was long gone, disappearing down the street and into the dark, cold night.

* * *

><p>She rode like wind – as fast as she dared. Half-breathing, half-sobbing, pedalling as hard as she could. She swung around the corner, sucking in air, chain rattling on the wheels. On the horizon, there was the faintest hint of orange, heralding the dawn.<p>

Tires screeched from somewhere behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw headlights come on at the end of the road, getting closer. She pedalled faster, faster, trying to escape everything. The whole world.

Houses flashed past on either side. She rounded another corner. There were no cars on the street, no people. Just the bike, and the trees… and the car coming up behind her. The yellow Buick screamed around the bend, suspension bouncing, the body scraping the asphalt and kicking up sparks. Alice looked over her shoulder again, hyperventilating, saw the car only thirty yards behind – and she braked, hard. The handlebars shuddered. She turned the bike around as she slowed and started riding back up the hill, passing the car in the other direction.

Louis saw her go past from the driver's seat. He gripped the wheel tightly, looked back and yelled after her. "ALLY, I'M SORRY!"

* * *

><p>The thing was, Louis Dainard was drunk. And he wasn't looking where he was going. Which meant, as he watched his daughter fly past, that the car was veering a little to the side…<p>

* * *

><p>The car slammed nose-first into the back of a red Ford, parked on the side of the road.<p>

_CRASH!_

A sharp and ugly sound, echoing up and down in the early pre-dawn air. Metal crunched against metal, the hood crumpling and popping open as the two cars slammed together. Glass exploded from the windshield in a shockingly thick cloud. The Buick bounced up, then down with shrieking rubber as the Ford's brakes and sheer weight stopped it violently in its tracks. Smoke erupted from the engine, hissing and steaming.

Alice skidded to a stop half-way up the hill. She looked over her shoulder.

And stood there, one leg on the bike, staring at the wrecked car with wide, terrified eyes. Shocked, disbelieving. Watching the smoke pour into the air. Unsure if she should go back and check or just…

It was suddenly quiet.

She scrunched up her eyes, holding back the tears, wondering what to do – then opened them, taking ragged breaths, still not moving even though she hated herself for it.

_It's the decisions we make that define who we are._

* * *

><p>Inside the car, Louis Dainard twitched.<p>

The driver's side window was shattered. His head had slammed forward, smashing into the windshield. His face and neck were streaked with blood from ragged, deep cuts. He adjusted himself painfully, straightening his back, collapsing into the torn-up seat. The seatbelt lay slack against the door.

He looked around for his daughter.

_Ally?_

* * *

><p>Alice saw his head moving through the back window of the car. Saw it look from side to side.<p>

That was enough to let her decide. _I'm…_

_I'm not going back._

And then there was a sound behind her. A terrible, alien sound. A high-pitched whine, interspersed with rhythmic clicking, like nothing she'd ever heard before.

She turned, and… saw it.

Stood there, staring up at it for the briefest of seconds before her mouth let loose a piercing, terrified scream—

* * *

><p>Louis heard his daughter scream. The sound arrowed through layers of alcohol and shock and he looked around frantically, eyes flicking left and right until they settled on the rear mirror where he saw…<p>

He wasn't sure what they saw – a smooth grey shape with too many legs that made his eyes go wide. It was an animal, it had to be, four metres tall and half in shadow as it reared up, clutching his daughter in its arms. Alice kept screaming, mixed in with the clicking and hissing of the creature, and the _clang_ of the bike falling to the ground—

"ALICE!" He shouted in desperation, his own screams mixed with hers. He tried to open the car door but it was jammed shut, wouldn't budge no matter how hard he tried. He looked behind him, saw the spiderlike grey blur scrabbling across the grass.

His daughter wasn't screaming anymore.

He went for the passenger door, kicking it open with brute strength, fell out of the car and onto the side of the road. "Alice!" He pushed himself to his feet and started running up the hill, drunken and bleeding, swaying, calling out her name. "ALLY!"

All that was left was her mangled blue bike, lying discarded on the sidewalk. Louis tripped over the wheel as he stumbled past; fell down hard on the pavement next to it, a battered, crying mess.

All that was left. He got up and stood there in the middle of the empty road, looking around with shock and disbelief. Hair covered in sweat and grime, face covered in blood. Vocal cords shredded as he called out her name, again and again and again, as if it would bring her back.

"_ALLYYYY!"_


	13. Operation Walking Distance

_Author's Note: This might be the last chapter for a little while (till January) as I've got some other stuff I should proooobably finish off first. So… see you in a few weeks, I guess! Hope you all have a great Christmas, and a happy new year :-)_

* * *

><p><span>Operation Walking Distance<span>

Fire.

It began with the fire, sweeping out in a great arc across the valley. Flames roared in the early pre-dawn light, hissing and smoking, warming the faces of the dozen air force men who were standing upon the hillside.

One soldier stood out in front. He was wearing a thick fireproof suit, and jets of orange leapt from the flamethrower in his hands. The vegetation was burning quickly in the intense heat, hypnotically bright, spreading fiery tendrils through the tall, dry grass.

Nelec looked on approvingly from his position on top of the ridge. The rest of the soldiers stood guard as clouds of smoke washed over them; it was all going according to plan. His radio crackled. _"Firelight is 0500 hours. Operation Walking Distance is in effect. T-minus four hours to evacuation. I repeat, evacuation is T-minus four hours."_

Nelec smiled, and watched the grass burn.

* * *

><p>Donny hummed to himself softly by the window of Olsen's Cameras, casually content in his (he thought) stylish new shirt. He pulled out the box of completed Super 8 orders and started leafing through the yellow envelopes inside, ignorant of the hushed argument going on in front of the counter.<p>

"Why are you not reacting?" Joe whispered urgently. "That thing went _through my wall_."

"I told you not to pick it up in the first place," Charles retorted.

"What are you so angry about? That I'm not gonna let you blow up my train?"

"That's part of it!... Just a part."

Donny walked over and chucked Charles' envelope on the counter – 'RUSH' was stamped on the side in red – along with his ten bucks' change. He leaned forwards, arms folded on the glass.

"Hey. Tell your sister Donny from Olsen's broke up with Karen," he said, totally not being sleazy. At all. "That shit ended about a week ago."

Charles just gave him an I-am-slightly-worried-every-time-I-talk-to-you look. He checked that his film was in the envelope and stuffed it hurriedly into his bag, then left the shop without another word. Joe followed close behind, his own backpack hanging over the shoulders of his thin blue sweater. The door _dinged_ as they pushed through it and out onto the street.

It was still early morning, with the town still half in shadow. Charles grabbed his bike off the wall, sweating slightly in his baggy striped shirt, doing his best to ignore Joe completely.

"What's your problem?!" Joe asked exasperatedly.

Charles gave him a disgusted look. "My whole movie is a _disaster_ because of you."

"I know my dad's being a turkey!"

"What-_ever_."

Joe felt himself getting kind of irritated. He took a deep breath as he vaulted onto his bike, and followed as Charles started pedalling across the road. They took the shortcut past the big town water tower - riding through the gate in the chain-link fence and between the tower's steel legs, passing in and out of shadow. Tyres whirred on the dirty concrete. The few people that were out and about were giving nervous glances at the air force men who were standing around on the street corners.

"We're still gonna finish your movie!" Joe called out.

"It's not _about_ the movie."

"What are you talking about? Of course it is!"

"Just forget it."

"_Why?!_ There's nothing wrong!" His voice cracked. "We're gonna finish the movie! Your _genius_ movie!"

Charles looked over his shoulder and just shook his head.

But if he'd looked _up –_ past the six legs of the water tower, past its criss-crossing steel frame, past the access ladders and catwalks, all the way up to the fat blue-painted tank that glinted in the sunlight… he would've seen a strange white cube vibrating furiously as it stuck against the metal. Rattling around in the deep dent it had made after slamming into the tank's surface last night, as if it was still trying to push through.

And, over the hill, past the grimy grey towers of the steel mill, he would've seen a promise of things to come – an enormous cloud of smoke billowing up from the nearby forest, chokingly thick, blocking out the bright blue sky.

* * *

><p>They rolled up Charles' driveway and dumped their bikes on the lawn. Charles was still pissed off, frustrated beyond belief. Joe still didn't know why. "I can get the camera back – I know where my dad put it. We can still make the festival!"<p>

"It's not about the movie."

"Then _what_ is it about?"

"Jesus, you don't get it, do you? It's OBVIOUS."

"What's 'obvious?'"

"God, you're a _dumbass_." Charles rolled his eyes and stormed into the house. Joe stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before following him up the steps. "Charles, wait!"

"Just shut up." He strode through the house and burst into his room, with all its mess and magazines and movie posters, Joe a couple of seconds behind. Charles dumped his bag on the ground and tore open Donny's yellow envelope. He took out the film and started threading it into his projector.

"Charles, seriously, what's wrong? I'm going to keep asking until you _tell_ me."

The film reel started whirring. Charles stood up, his face red. "It's you," he said indignantly. "It's you. Happy now? That night of the crash, you started getting all weird—"

"What? What are you _talking_ about?"

"—like, like Mr. Attitude, all of a sudden."

Joe frowned. "What? I didn't - your movie was OVER, that's what you said! You were upset!"

Charles turned away in disgust. "Oh my god."

"I gave you a camera! I _helped_ you—"

"Don't pretend like you did this for me! You didn't do this me, and you KNOW it." Charles walked across the room, and flicked off the lights. "This was never about me. This was always about Alice!"

And suddenly, on the poster board next to the closet, there she was: Alice, from the night of the train crash, dressed in that long beige trenchcoat. Hair tied back, lit up against the night. Charles bent down to check something on the projector; Joe turned to the screen. _  
><em>

The scene played out just as they'd filmed it. _"I think it's safer if you leave town for a couple of days," _Detective Hathaway was saying.

_ "John, I don't like it. This case, these murders."_

_ "Well what am I supposed to do, go to Michigan with you?"_

Charles slid down in his desk chair, shoulders slumped, watching the movie with a defeated look in his eyes. Joe leant against a set of drawers, fuming silently. He felt kind of sick now that he knew what Charles was pissed off about.

_"_Well, you're the one who wanted the wife in the movie," he said acidly.

"Not so you could fall in love with her," Charles shot back.

"What do you care what I think about Alice anyway?"

"Because _I_ like her!" Charles shouted and stood up in anger and suddenly their faces were inches apart. "That's why I asked her to do this thing in the first place! So I could get to know her! Not YOU!"

Joe was stunned for a second. His mind spun, trying to figure out how to respond. "…You like Alice Dainard?"

Charles shook his head. "You're such an _idiot!_"

Then, from the projector: a loud, muffled _BANG! _The two of them jumped and whirled around. The camera was still focused on Alice's face but the train was now whizzing past, loud and urgent.

Then: "_Guys, watch out!"_

_"Joe, what the hell are you—"_

All of a sudden there was fear in Alice's eyes. A flash. Then the camera spun sickeningly and they were all running, running across the station platform, Alice, Martin, Joe, Charles in his bright yellow jacket. There was an explosion, bright yellow, and a long, metallic screech that made him want to cover his ears.

"_Oh, my god! Shit!"_

_ "Run!"_

A searing flash and the camera fell to the ground. Panicked memories.

_"Help!"_

_ "Oh my god!"_

The view was indistinct, just a sea of dark grey, with the occasional bright orange burst as another of the carriages exploded. Another series of sharp _bangs_ rang from Charles' speakers and the camera jerked again, hit by a piece of flying metal. Blurry shapes zipped across the frame. It seemed like the crash was so fast that it had picked up almost nothing – nothing but settling debris, and the clouds of smoke and ash.

"Shit. Look at all that smoke. I can't use this… " Charles sniffed and walked towards the screen. Part of the film caught the edge of his shirt, playing ghostly images on the fabric. "And you won't even let me blow up your train. Everything's _bogus._"

Dust began to fall as the last of the carriages skidded into uncomfortable silence. Joe slid off the drawers and walked over to his best friend; stood beside him as he stared at the ruined scene. It always felt bad when they argued. No matter where, or when, or what it was about. _I'm sorry, Charles..._

"We could make another train and blow that one up," Joe suggested.

He glanced at his friend, who steadfastly ignored him.

The projector kept whirring.

"…I do like her," Joe said quietly. "Sorry about that."

"Shut up," Charles retorted - but not angrily, this time. "It's okay. That's not even what bothers me." He turned to his friend, then looked miserably at his feet. "...She likes you too. _That's_ what really bothers me."

Joe didn't say anything.

"I know it sounds stupid – why would she ever like me? I haven't leaned out yet, and the doctor says it's gonna happen." Charles sighed.

Joe couldn't help glancing at his stomach. It wasn't _that_ bad.

"…I don't know. Everything's just so bogus."

Light from the projector played across Charles' shirt. It was blurry, indistinct - until, suddenly, a very clear shadow appeared on the cloth. Like a spider, or something.

"Charles." Joe put a hand on his shoulder, pushed him out of the way of the projector. Charles looked down and blinked as he saw it. They turned towards the screen, where—

There was something moving in the wreckage. Something big.

They watched, mesmerised.

The camera was lying on its side, looking at an overturned train car. The view was still dark, blurry, and a couple of long gashes stretched across the screen where the camera's lens had cracked. But something was climbing _out_ of the train car. Something big, _too_ big, just on the edge of the frame. Its shape, its… flesh were bizarre, silhouetted against the moonlight. They could only see its legs, really, long multi-jointed things that quickly clambered out of view. A crab, or a gigantic insect, or—

"Joe, what the hell?... What is that?"

Then, suddenly, it reappeared, a lot closer now - still just an indistinct shape, climbing down the other side of the carriage. A shadow. Out of focus, rippling towards the screen. The carriage rattled. It came closer, closer, one leg almost touching the lens...

And then it was gone.

They looked at each other, fear on their faces, wondering what the _hell_ they'd just captured on film.

Suddenly, an air-raid siren echoed through the daylight. Loud, piercing, rising and falling. Joe glanced around in reflex, unsure where the sound was coming from, trying to remember what the siren meant—

Their eyes locked and they leapt into action. Joe stopped the projector and took the film canister, shoved it into his pocket. Charles picked up their bags and chucked them both over his shoulder. "Come on!"

* * *

><p>It was chaos. Absolute chaos. Up and down the street, all through town, as far as the eye could see. Joe and Charles rounded the corner at the top of the hill and gazed at the scene in wonderment and confusion. Hundreds of people were out on the street – running towards the town hall, hurrying home to grab belongings, talking nervously with neighbours, standing on the sidewalks. Kids, families, shopkeepers, parents, rushing in every direction. A line of cars and buses stretched down the road to the town centre, at a standstill, horns honking. Army jeeps and trucks rolled up on people's lawns as rifle-armed air force men tried to direct the crowds. Above it all, there was the air-raid siren, wailing loudly in their ears.<p>

Joe saw someone he recognised stumble past. "Mr Harkin! What's going on?"

"Evacuation! The fire!" Mr Harkin pointed in the direction of the town hall, quickly kept walking up the hill. Joe and Charles turned to the south and saw—

A huge cloud of smoke looming over the hills, grey and threatening. Eerily close. It had to be almost at the edge of town, just past the lines of houses and the metallic spire of the church. The smell of it filled his nostrils, sharp and acrid. He could see a distinct orange glow above the treeline as flames licked through the haze.

An air force private noticed them standing there. "Hey, you two! Where're your parents?"

"They were out! With my sisters!" Charles had to shout above the noise. "Where are we—"

"Okay, don't worry! Just get on one of the buses, everyone's being taken to the same place!" He pointed down the road, to where a fleet of a dozen yellow school buses was waiting.

Charles nodded and they started trudging down the hill, half-jogging, looking around at all the bedlam. Joe tried to make sense of it all. _Where did the fire start? Where's all the fire department? _He remembered the town being evacuated once before, when he was still in elementary school, but that had been nowhere near as crazy as this. At every intersection they passed there was another long line of cars, more people crowding the sidewalks, another group of soldiers directing the traffic in their olive-green combat uniforms… men running back and forth, looking for their loved ones, couples clutching bags and piles of clothes, families holding hands under the oddly-calm blue sky. Some were still loading their cars, strapping their belongings to the roof. A bright green news chopper was circling low over the trees. There was a little girl crying by herself on the street corner, and as he watched a soldier bent down to comfort her.

"This is crazy…" Charles murmured.

"Yeah. I've never seen anything like… like this." Joe shook his head. Someone had rigged up a PA system that was blaring information over the shouts and calls of the crowd: _"…the county is being evacuated due to a wildfire that is raging out of control, and threatening to reach the Lillian chemical plant… the evacuation has been called for your safety. Please remain calm as you board the bus... if you are driving your own vehicle, follow the caravan to the evacuation centre… please take with you essential items only..."_

They kept pushing through the crowds as they jogged towards the main street, and a minute or two later, they reached the row of waiting buses. They shuffled into line, sticking together; the smoke was starting to reach the town itself, and a thin grey haze was floating over the nearby rooves.

Joe tapped his friend on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Charles nodded, a little out of breath. "Still got that film?"

"Yeah."

Joe looked down the street, then back at the hills. You couldn't see the fire from here, but the siren was still going. _"Wait, wait! Please wait!" _someone was shouting. _"Wait!"_ Up in the direction of Taylor Avenue, two cars had slammed into each other, with baggage tumbling out onto the road. The crowd kept sluggishly moving forwards, filling up the buses.

"Where do you think we're going?" Joe asked. "If everyone's going to the same place it has to be pretty big…"

And then, suddenly, they were at the front of the line. Despite everything, the air force had managed to keep some semblance of order. There was a soldier waiting by the door of the bus, handing out forms – Joe took one with sweaty hands and climbed up the steps, Charles right behind him.

Joe trudged down the aisle, looking at all the frightened faces, at all the people still milling around outside. He sat down in the nearest empty seat with Charles and they scanned the crowd, searching for anything familiar.

"You see your family anywhere?"

"No. You see your dad?"

"No…"

* * *

><p>An interminable wait later, the bus's doors hissed shut. Apparently, everyone had been loaded onto the convoy; the engine gradually sputtered to life and the bus jerked forwards, following whichever vehicle was ahead of them. Joe pressed his face to the window as they drove past hastily-abandoned shops – Carol's Diner, the Pennway pharmacy – that now looked strangely unfamiliar. The streets were almost empty too, with most people having rushed home or fled.<p>

Then, as he looked up towards the front, he saw something that made the alarm bells go off in his head.

There was another convoy coming down the road towards them, except that this one was going _into_ town. It was made up exclusively of those big red cargo trucks, rolling past one after the other – the same trucks that they'd seen cleaning up at the crash site a few days ago, with the white dots painted on the sides of their trailers.

Joe frowned. The air force was moving stuff. _They're moving whatever was in that train into the centre of town, and they're kicking us out at the same time._

_ What _is _happening?_

* * *

><p>They drove along the highway out of town, heading east, passing fenced green fields and forested valleys, and the tall smokestacks of the nearby power station. Horses flicked their tails as the convoy rumbled past, chewing contentedly on their pastures. The jeeps came first, followed by the big, flat-bed army trucks – then the buses, yellow and green, all packed full. Hundreds of regular cars were dotted in between, piled with luggage and nervous families, kept in strict formation by the air force vehicles (Donny Olsen's Pontiac was one of them, sandwiched between a couple of trucks mid-way through). An endless line of vehicles, racing for the hills.<p>

The adrenaline of the evacuation was beginning to wear off as the sun started to dip towards the horizon. They'd been driving for almost an hour, with Lillian left far behind. Joe watched the hills slide past and idly imagined what his friends might be doing.

Martin would've thrown up at least once by now. Maybe twice.

Preston would be making terrible jokes about burning things.

Cary had probably tried to run _towards_ the fire, loving every second of it.

Charles was right there, sleeping fitfully beside him.

And Alice… Alice could be staring out window, just like him.

* * *

><p>Tanks were rolling down the main street of Lillian. Actual <em>tanks<em>. A whole fleet of M60 Pattons, with thick treads and squat bodies and huge main guns. Hundreds of tons of metal crunched along the pavement, thundering and smoking past the rows of parked red cargo trucks. Soldiers manned the anti-personnel machine guns, squinting watchfully in the smoky haze.

It would've been a sight to behold if there was anyone left to see it. The military had taken over the firefighting operation, much to the protests of the county fire department, and everyone else had been forcibly evacuated. The only living things in Lillian now were the hundreds of air force troopers, standing guard with their rifles, and maybe a couple of rats.

Private Cheadle was one of those troopers. He'd been instructed to guard one of the cargo trailers and was currently doing so to the best of his ability, trying not to gawp too much at the passing line of tanks. It was all very impressive; another platoon of air force was due in soon too. The officers hadn't really told them what they were all _doing_ here yet, but it had to be pretty important to bring in all this heavy armour. He could see the tanks reflected in the glass of the shop window across from him, and smiled inwardly as he saw one run over a postbox. Metal screeched is it got caught under the treads.

Then Private Cheadle heard another noise. He frowned, listened.

There it was again. A repeated dull clanging noise, coming from _inside_ the red trailer. He turned around and looked up and down the cargo trailer – there was nothing inside that could move, was there? Only those pallets of strange white cubes…

He grabbed Private Hudson, who was standing guard on the other side. "You hear it?" he asked quietly.

Hudson nodded.

Wordlessly, they walked to the end of the trailer and unlocked the compartment doors. Cheadle fingered his weapon reflexively as Hudson pulled them open—

Inside, big storage pallets were stacked from floor to roof, leaving a small aisle in the middle so that you could walk up and down the trailer. And hovering in the aisle were hundreds of white cubes – zipping back and forth, banging against the walls like a swarm of angry bees. Cheadle didn't know whether he should scream or laugh. Somehow they'd managed to wriggle out of the boxes. Somehow, _they were flying_.

They slammed the doors of the trailer shut before one of the damn things could get out. Hudson locked it – firmly – as Cheadle ran to the nearest commanding officer, who would hopefully know what the _hell_ those things actually were.

Maybe they would need the tanks after all.

* * *

><p>Colonel Nelec sat in the driver's seat of his jeep, watching his troops march past. Watching the tanks roll by. Now that Operation Walking Distance was in effect, it meant the air force could pursue their escapee without any… inconvenient witnesses. They would sweep the town street by street and catch it once and for all. <em>And we will not let it escape again. <em>

"Sir!"

He glanced upward. Two soldiers had suddenly appeared next to the jeep, privates he didn't know – Cheadle and Hudson, according to their tags. They looked rather jumpy as they snapped off their salutes. "Yes?"

"You asked us to report anything unusual! And… we got something unusual!" Cheadle said.

"We got something in the container, sir!"

"Yeah!"

"We heard a noise, we opened the door, we don't know what it is!"

"You gotta take a look at this!" They were shouting over the noise of the tanks, nodding emphatically at each other like they still couldn't quite believe what they'd seen. Nelec was already out of the jeep and gestured at them to lead the way. He started hurrying towards the truck—

"Colonel!" Nelec whirled around, saw Sergeant Overmeyer coming up behind him with a sheet of brown paper in his hands. "We got a match for the tire tracks from the crash site!"

"Is it local?" Nelec asked.

"Yeah – the car was actually in a wreck of its own last night!"

"…Who's the driver?"

Overmeyer handed him the papers. It was a photocopy of a car's registration records… a 1968 Buick GSX that belonged to a certain Louis Dainard. Nelec smiled grimly.

"Find him! And bring him in!"


	14. The Plan

_Author's Note: Apparently I've been writing this story for over a year now. Good news is, we're getting to the end! Bad news is, it means I'll actually have to start thinking about this whole 'sequel' thing. Or maybe that's also good news. I don't know. Anyway, bit of a shorter chapter this time, but it's still holidays over here in Western Australia and I should be able to get through another couple of chapters before university starts up again._

_I should mention that one of the scenes in this chapter is greatly expanded from what was in the movie. The movie version is_ really_ short, so short that it barely makes sense__ - so I thought it would be better to go a little more in depth. Enjoy :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Plan<span>

"Hey, Charles. Wake up. I think we're here."

"Huh… what?"

"We're here." Joe tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Where's 'here?'"

"Greenville. The Air Force Base." Joe leaned forwards and peered out the windows as Charles blearily opened his eyes.

The air force base was a big complex of buildings close to the Indiana border, about fifty miles north of Lillian. The convoy was driving along the outer fence; Joe couldn't see much of the base itself, just a couple of aging two-storey offices and a whole bunch of long, corrugated-iron sheds. The sheds had big numbers painted on the sides – one, three, four, nine – and were all starting to rust. He faintly remembered hearing something about the base being shut down a few years back, because it certainly didn't seem to be in use now.

And then the bus was turning. They slowed down, almost to a stop, and trundled through an open boom gate in the fence ('_EAST ENTRANCE,' _it said, _'AF PERSONNEL ONLY'_). A soldier waved them through from a little guardhouse on the side and they turned again, into a big asphalt parking lot that was rapidly filling up. Dozens of cars were already parked along one side of the fence, while school buses pulled into bays to disgorge their dozens of passengers. Snaking lines of people stretched between sheds and hangars. Air force men directed vans and trucks to different areas of the base as more and more vehicles trickled in. Their bus kept going, past the assembly area, driving towards one of the rusting aircraft shelters.

It was weird; the evacuation was all so _organised. _The fire had spread around Lillian incredibly quickly, but the air force had been ready to go as soon as the evacuation was called – trucks, buses, hundreds of soldiers, already spread around town. Almost like they'd been waiting for it. Expecting it.

But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

* * *

><p>Inside, Joe and Charles were escorted off the bus, along with the other passengers – and all of the panic and confusion came instantly rushing back. The whole <em>town <em>was here. There had to be hundreds of people squashed into the creaking hangar, a solid mass of sweat and suitcases, all slowly moving towards the opening at the far end. Daylight streamed in through dusty windows far above, illuminating old scaffolding and scratched wooden walls. Joe clutched his papers in one hand and followed Charles through the crush.

"File in. File in please, file in!"

They passed through the open gate at the end of the building and into the main evacuation centre. This hangar was much larger, cleaner too, with corrugated-iron walls and a roof that stretched high above. The floor had been divided up into different areas based on family name and Charles craned his neck, looking for-

"There! H through N," he said, pointing.

They made their way over to the right-hand wall. A soldier ushered them through a gap in the temporary fence and they started looking for familiar faces. Someone was arguing close by, voice raised over the buzz of conversation.

_"Corporal! I need to get back to my house, I left some medication that my wife needs—"_

_ "Sir, the town is _sealed off_. No one's allowed in."_

_ "But I can't get it anywhere else! I have to go back!"_

And then, a familiar voice: "Excuse me. Excuse me!"

Charles' mother suddenly appeared out of the crowd. She looked worried, flustered, a bag over one shoulder, but then she saw them and relief flooded her face. "Charles? Charles! Oh, thank god." She rushed towards them and gave her son a quick hug. "I went back to the house and you were gone!"

"Yeah, they put us on the bus," Charles explained.

"Oh, well I'm just glad you're here, we've been worried sick." She smiled, saw Joe standing behind him. "Hey sweetie."

"Hey." He turned to Charles. "I'm gonna find my dad."

Charles frowned. "You gonna tell him about that huge—"

"Yes!" Joe cut him off quickly and started moving into the crowd.

Mrs Kaznyk called out after him. "Come back if you can't find him!"

* * *

><p>On a cot in the base's improvised triage unit – fifty beds, transferred from Lillian hospital – Louis Dainard stared into the distance. Tired. Injured. Hungover. In shock. His face was red and bruised, his shirt still spotted with blood, and he was muttering to himself softly, about beasts and his daughter and things you couldn't quite hear.<p>

The nurse made him swallow another couple of painkillers, and moved on to her next patient.

* * *

><p>The evac centre was, basically, the definition of ordered chaos. Walkie-talkies squawked. Orders were barked. Residents complained and argued as PA announcements echoed through the air, about the fire, about the conditions, about the need for <em>'all small children to wear a wristband at all times<em>'. There were a thousand people in the hangar so far with more flooding in every minute. Beds had been set up in long lines, dug up from god knows where.

Joe pushed through the crowd, carrying his backpack in one hand, looking all over for a glimpse of a black police uniform.

He hadn't seen his dad yet.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen his dad that morning, either, when he'd left go to Charles' place. That wasn't really unusual – Jack sometimes had to leave early for work – but last night, after the argument…

It was a bad feeling. A crappy feeling. And his dad wasn't usually a hard person to find.

Joe spotted something rising out of the throng and made his way towards it. It was a curtained-off area in the corner of the hangar, surrounded by gas tanks and crates of medical equipment. He walked up to the edge and cautiously peered inside.

Some kind of first-aid area, it looked like; hospital beds, IV drips, nurses hurrying around with clipboards in their hands. And almost instantly his eyes settled on one thing.

Thick arms. Unbuttoned shirt. That distinctive shaggy blonde hair.

Joe stood there for a moment, thinking. In normal circumstances he would've stayed the hell away, but… this definitely wasn't normal. It was the first familiar face he'd seen other than Mrs. Kaznyk. And, well, his dad and Mr. Dainard seemed to have this weird relationship where they watched each other very, very carefully…

So, with his heart beating fast, Joe Lamb crept over to Louis Dainard's hospital bed and knelt down beside him. It was quieter, here behind the curtains. _You're not scared_, he told himself._ You're not._ _Just ask him, that's all you have to do._

"Mr Dainard, it's Joe Lamb," he said quickly. "I – I know you don't like me, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm looking for my dad."

Louis looked up. His eyes flashed with recognition and suddenly he _grabbed_ Joe's shirt, pulled him close. "It took her," Louis said desperately. "It took _Alice_."

Joe twitched. "…What?"

"I saw it. It was big…" he murmured. "And, I don't know, it was something. I've never… I've never seen – it was so… dark, like nothing. No one believes me." Louis shook his head helplessly. He was struggling, almost crying. "No one believes me. They just keep giving me pills, and – it took her… Joe, it took _Alice. _No one believes me."

There was a pause. Joe forced himself to stay close, not to pull away. He stared into those vacant, haunted eyes…

…and suddenly, something clicked. The realisation set his mind on _fire_.

"I believe you," Joe whispered.

And Louis Dainard looked up, his face filled with hope—

* * *

><p>They sat in a circle in the middle of the evac hangar, using Preston's suitcase as a table. It had taken a while to gather everyone together (especially Cary, who was so short he'd been almost impossible to spot), but now they were here. Charles, Cary, Preston, Martin and Joe – a little island of friendship, surrounded by beds and piles of luggage.<p>

Except for the one person who was conspicuously missing.

"It took her," Joe said.

"Took who?" Preston asked.

"Alice. Guys, it's – it's hard to explain. I talked to her dad, and he said he saw something, this big—"

Charles cut him off. "That _thing_ took her!?"

Martin frowned. "What thing?"

"Yeah. What the hell are you talking about, Joe?" Cary retorted.

"There's this – on the film, there was—" Joe closed his eyes, and took a quick breath. _I'll have to start at the beginning_. "Charles… do you want to tell them?"

"Uh – sure, I guess."

Charles looked at everyone.

Everyone looked at Charles.

"So… you remember the night of the train crash?" he said nervously.

"Yeah. We were there, dumbass." Cary rolled his eyes.

"Shut up. And you remember all those weird white cubes and stuff?"

"Oh, yeah," Preston murmured. "Did we ever figure out what they were for?"

"No, but one busted straight through my wall," Joe replied.

"It _what_?"

"You took one _home?_"

"Yes, I did, but—"

"It could've _exploded_ or something!"

"Martin! I know! Just – listen to Charles." Joe sighed. "The other thing's more important."

They paused for a second as a couple of soldiers walked past, dragging an unconscious guy in an orange leather jacket.

"Anyway," Charles continued. "I took the film from that night to be developed, and I just got it back this morning. Joe and I watched it at my house."

"…And?"

"And most of it was bad. Really blurry, smoke everywhere. Basically useless. Except at the end."

"The camera was lying on its side. Pointed at one of the carriages," Joe explained.

"That's right. And it saw something climb out of the train."

"'Something?'" Cary asked sceptically.

"Yeah. Like a creature. It was kind of like a – an insect, or a crab. Except _really _big, taller than the train. Lots of legs." Charles tried to make the right shape with his fingers, but only succeeded in making a demented-looking jellyfish. "It was _huge_. And it climbed out of the carriage, and just walked off past the camera."

Now Martin was even more confused. "So you're saying you saw – what. A monster? An alien? A, a military experiment or something?"

"I don't know! But it's real. And it's on my film." Charles dug around in his jacket, and pulled out the film reel in question. Everyone stared at it with nervous eyes, half-expecting it to dissolve into spiders or something.

"That's… I don't know, man." For once, Cary was speechless.

"And guys, think about it," Joe said quietly. "It explains everything. It explains the train. It explains why the military is here. It explains all the weird stuff that's been happening. If there's some kind of – some kind of creature on the loose… it could even explain why Dr. Woodward crashed his car."

There was a pause.

"He's right, you know," Preston said. "It explains a lot."

"Oh, _man_," Martin groaned.

"Yeah." Joe nodded. "And it took Alice."

"What do you mean it took her? Did you see it?"

"No, but I just talked to her dad, like twenty minutes ago. He said he saw – he saw this _thing_, and I know it's the same thing that's on that film. I know it. Guys, we HAVE to go back."

They all looked at him like he was from Uranus.

"Back where?" Charles asked.

"To do _what_?" Preston added.

"We have to go back to town. To find Alice, to find her."

"Are you _shitting_ me?" Cary exclaimed.

"Dude, she's _dead_," Martin said fearfully, "Alice is dead, if it took her, she—"

"Don't say that!" Joe interrupted. "She's not dead! But we have to go back to save her! Come on, guys!"

Now the whole group was starting to panic a little. "Joe! What do you actually expect to do, man? The town's closed. We're _not allowed to go back_," Charles hissed.

"Look, I have an idea," Joe shot back. "I'm going whether or not you come – which I really hope you do. Come on, guys!"

"Wait a minute – first of all, I wanna LIVE. Okay?" Preston looked around, eyes wide. He held up his left hand which was still covered in band-aids from the train crash. "These fingers are for playing the _piano_! Not for breaking through military blockades!

"It won't be that hard! We just need to find someone who can drive. We won't even need to be careful until we get back to Lillian."

"But no one wants to go back except us!" Charles said. "And in case you've forgotten, Alice isn't exactly here to help out!"

"What about Donny? He's got a car, I saw him driving it on the way here."

Cary shook his head. "That guy from the camera shop? I am _not _getting in a car with him."

"Whatever, we'll find someone else. Just—"

"And where are we even_ going_?" Martin asked. "No one's found that thing so far, what makes you think we can?"

"I have an idea, I said! And I'm pretty sure I saw it once too!" Joe said urgently.

"Pretty sure? That's not exactly reassuring."

"Fine! I'm ninety percent sure, Preston! Ninety percent sure!"

"There's also the fire to worry about. The whole town might just be ash by now."

"Who cares about the fire? The air force would've put it out—"

People were starting to look at them curiously, wondering about the raised voices. Joe closed his eyes for a few brief seconds, then continued a little more quietly. "…put it out. Right?"

"I suppose so..."

There was silence for a moment as everyone tried to absorb what Joe was saying. It was, to be honest, a lot to take in.

"You said you had an idea," Charles murmured eventually.

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it," Joe replied. "What do you use to scare away big animals?"

"Loud noises, I guess. Bright light."

"Yeah. And what makes loud noises and light?"

"…guns?" Martin suggested.

"No, it's something that we already have."

Suddenly, Cary's eyes lit up. _"Firecrackers_," he whispered.

"Exactly. Firecrackers. We light them up and scare the monster away."

Preston didn't look convinced. "That's assuming it even _does_ get scared. By anything. You said yourself it was huge, what makes you think it's going to behave like any normal animal?"

"Well, it's been hiding from the air force, right? It must know that guns and soldiers are bad, so…" Joe sighed. "We have to go. We have to try. It's _Alice_, guys. If one of us was taken that thing, would we just drop everything to save them?"

They all looked at the floor. No one had a good response to that.

"So… that's all I've got. That's the plan," he said nervously. "But come on, who's with me?"

Cary immediately leapt to his feet and dumped his backpack on the floor. "I have six tons of explosives in this thing," he declared. "Let's find that thing and blow it to shit!"

* * *

><p>Jen Kaznyk lay in her cot, looking casually beautiful (or beautifully casual) as she flicked through her Columbia Records magazine. The whole evacuation thing had been kind of relaxing actually – no responsibilities, no arguments, no mother nagging in her ear – and it would have almost <em>perfect<em> if her little brother Charles wasn't right now kneeling by her bed, all up in her face and asking stupid questions.

"As if I'm gonna help _you_," she said derisively.

"Do this for me and I'll babysit the twins next week, so you can go to Wendy's stupid party."

Jen sat up at that. She closed her magazine and stared at him suspiciously.

"I'm not shitting you," Charles insisted. "You can't ask me any questions though. And you can't tell anyone. I'm serious. NOBODY."

Jen sighed. "Ugh, does it have to be _him_?"

"Yes or no, you ugly freak! I'm about to rescind the offer!"

* * *

><p>On the other side of the hangar, Jen sat down on an empty cot and put on her best seductive-yet-vulnerable look. "This whole evacuation thing's really freaking me out," she said huskily. "Making me rethink my priorities. Saw you over here and thought maybe we could kick back."<p>

On the bed opposite, Donny Olsen stared back at her – utterly gobsmacked. "We… we totally could," he managed, smiling idiotically.

Jen flicked her hair, glanced to the side. "I asked Charles about you," she murmured, "and – he said you're a _great_ guy."

"I totally am."

Jen laughed softly, and Donny's heart soared. So many dreams, coming true before his eyes. Then, suddenly, she gave him an awfully businesslike stare.

"Will you hate me if I start our relationship by asking a favour?"


	15. Breaking In

_Author's Note: Uhh… I got nothing. Enjoy the chapter! I did have to edit a little more dialogue to fit in with the previous chapter's modifications, but nothing too major._

_EDIT: Although it would be awesome if you could leave a review. Because seriously, it's great to get feedback on these things, and I always love it when a new review pops up in my inbox :-). Thanks!_

* * *

><p><span>Breaking In<span>

They half-crouched, half-ran through the lot of parked cars, ducking past vans and convertibles and VW Beetles; the afternoon sun shone brightly overhead, making them feel awfully exposed as they snuck through the air force base grounds. Donny led the way followed by a little human rainbow – Joe in his blue jacket, Charles in his yellow coat, Cary in an olive-green shirt, and Martin in an orange hoodie, all with backpacks slung over their shoulders, prepared for the night ahead.

But now there was another person missing.

_ "Who's with me?" he'd asked._

_ Cary dumped his bag of firecrackers on the ground. Everyone raised their hands, with varying degrees of eagerness. Cary, then Charles, then Martin._

_ Everyone except Preston. "Sorry, Joe," he'd said. "I can't. I'm sorry."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "It's just maths."_

_ Cary rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. What the hell does—"_

_ "No, seriously. IF you manage to get to town, IF you manage to find the monster, IF Alice is there, IF you manage to scare that thing off and save her… that's a lot of ifs. You're gonna die, guys," he said plaintively. "You shouldn't go." _

_ "But – we have to," Joe said lamely._

_ "Then good luck, I guess. I hope you come back." Preston smiled. "Otherwise, I won't have anyone to sit next to in Math class."_

Joe wished that Preston was with them, he really did. The group felt incomplete without him. And it would've been good to have someone smart along. Someone who actually knew what they were doing. Someone who didn't just change the entire plan (if you could call it that) as soon as an idea popped into their head, like Joe had done about thirty seconds ago.

Or maybe this was just a job for stupid people.

Brave, but stupid.

Joe glanced up ahead. Donny was leading them down another line of parked cars, around the side of the evac hangar, his long hair glinting in the sunlight. Though he hadn't exactly been _glad _about his new task, he'd been surprisingly calm about it.

Then he turned around suddenly. "So there are _rules_ to being in my car, okay?" he hissed.

"Where the hell are we going anyway?" Cary hissed back.

_Um, about that... _"We're gonna go to the school and open the trailer Woodward has in the parking lot," Joe replied. "I bet that—"

They ducked behind a car as a group of soldiers jogged past.

"…I bet _that's_ where he's keeping his research."

"Research? What research?" Cary asked. "I thought we were going to town."

"Woodward _must've _known what that thing is, right? We have to get into that trailer, learn everything we can about that thing so we can find it, and _that's_ how we're gonna save Alice…"

Joe made sure to keep his voice down. They watched and waited until the last of the air force men disappeared around the corner, talking animatedly. It had been surprisingly easy to get out of the hangar but it wouldn't be good to get caught now.

"Okay. Come on, let's go!"

They leapt out of cover and ran over to Donny's navy blue Pontiac Catalina, watching for more patrols as they crouched down around the car. "Dorks! No shoes on my upholstery," Donny warned them. He stabbed a finger at Cary's chest. "And NO ONE touches my C.B. You got it?"

Cary nodded timidly. Charles caught Joe's eye as Donny unlocked the door. "You think Woodward's got information about that thing in the dungeon?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Why, exactly?"

"Woodward knows – knew – there was something on that train. And he was a scientist before he was a teacher."

"But the_ dungeon_? Are you serious?"

"Why else are there six padlocks on the door?" Joe shrugged, and pointed at Donny. "We're GOING to the school," he said firmly. Then he slid into the passenger seat.

Donny paused. "...Since when did this one become so bossy?"

"I dunno," Martin grumbled, climbing into the back with the others.

"Well, whatever." Donny pulled the door closed and slipped the key into the ignition, ran a hand over the Catalina's dash. "Okay, dorks, you'd better strap yourselves in," he announced. "Some speedy driving _may _be required."

* * *

><p>Exactly fifty-four miles south and eighteen minutes later, Jack Lamb slammed a fist against the door of his cell.<p>

His _cell_. The word made him angry. It was a small, tiled room – white walls, white floor, no windows. Somewhere in the Lillian Airfield, he supposed, but they'd blindfolded him after taking him in last night. Jack hadn't slept at all since, partly because he was so god-damn _irritated_, and partly because the room didn't have a bed.

He cursed himself for being so stupid. Of _course_ Nelec wasn't going to come straight with him; of _course_ the military was going to steamroll right through anyone that so much as _tried_ to get in their way. He'd tried to get to the bottom of things properly but had only succeeded at making things worse, and now, well… who knew what was going on out there. Lillian could have been on fire, for all he knew.

Basically, Jack was pissed off; more than that, he was bored of _being_ pissed off. So he hit the door again, made it rattle on its hinges. "Hey! I gotta take a leak!" he shouted.

No reply.

"What am I supposed to do – piss in here!?" He pounded on the wood. _BAM BAM BAM! BAM BAM BAM!_

Suddenly, he heard the click of a key in the lock. Jack stepped back (still wearing his dusty deputy's uniform). The door opened; on the other side was a young, very humourless soldier. His uniform said "Wallace" and he looked extraordinarily serious – pursed lips, thin sheen of sweat, blue beret perched upon his head. An M-16 was clutched tightly in his hands with the barrel pointed at the roof. For now.

Jack met Wallace's gaze, and didn't try to hide his irritation. "Thanks for the hospitality," he muttered.

The soldier didn't even twitch. "Step outside. Slowly."

Jack rolled his eyes, but did as the guy asked. He put his hands in the air and stepped out into the hallway.

"Walk."

He started walking.

It was a long, narrow corridor. Top half painted white, bottom half painted green. The weak fluorescents in the ceiling made everything seem old and dilapidated. Jack looked around, tried to figure out where he was, but he must've slowed down too much because Wallace suddenly prodded him in the back with the gun.

"Keep going."

"Yeah, yeah."

They passed an open office. Jack looked through the window and saw a bunch of military vehicles and airmen out on the tarmac. _It's still bad, then. Whatever's happening out there. _But the bathroom was at the end of the hall, and they were rapidly approaching. His mind raced. He glanced behind him at the soldier who was still following closely. "Am I gonna go in alone," he began, "or are you gonna end up coming with—"

He whirled around and _slammed_ Wallace in the neck with his elbow. The soldier grunted in pain and stumbled back, dazed, was just beginning to recover when Jack leapt forward and grabbed the cold metal of the gun. He got a hold of it and they struggled for the briefest of seconds but then Jack pulled back and—

_Crack! _Smashed him in the face with the butt of the rifle. Broken nose. Wallace tumbled into the wall, fell limply to the ground. Jack knelt down and felt his pulse, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Unconscious. He was unconscious. Jack looked up, eyes wide.

_What the hell next?_

* * *

><p>A soldier ran through the dark corridors of the airport, black boots slapping on the white-tiled floors. Gear rattled on his belt; quick breaths wheezed from his lungs. He jogged through an empty office, past cleared desks and scattered papers, then pressed up against the slightly-open door at the far end.<p>

Jack paused. The new uniform was itchy and he was _fucking scared,_ but at least he had a rifle in his hands. He tugged at Wallace's beret, made sure it was snug on his head; turned and looked behind him but there was no one. Just gloom and silence.

He peered through the crack in the door. More gloom. More silence. So he pushed through the door, into the room beyond. It was some kind of foyer area, with a reception desk at the front and blinds covering the windows. A couple of coats hung from a rack on the wall. He felt kind of sorry for Wallace actually, the guy had looked barely old enough to shave.

"_Shit!..._" He jumped as a mannequin loomed at him from the shadows. It was a store dummy dressed up in old paratrooper gear, beneath a painting of some old World War 2 air battle. Jack took a quick breath, forced himself to move on. He kept going forwards, staying low, peeled around a corner, until suddenly there was a door and a window in front of him and through it he saw—

The tarmac. A big refuelling truck was parked maybe twenty metres from the window, next to a small, black propeller plane; a couple of men were working on the truck, unwinding a hose from the fuel tank on the back. More jeeps and trucks and guards were scattered across the asphalt and behind them, the airport runways stretched into the afternoon haze. The sky outside was a dark grey – almost like it was filled with smoke...

Jack ducked into cover as a jeep rolled past. His eyes shifted from the fuel truck, then back to the gun in his hands.

Desperate times, desperate measures. Never mind that he hadn't used an M-16 in about ten years. Jack clenched his teeth, running on fumes and adrenaline and last night's dinner, and there was a metallic _ch-chink _as he flipped the safety of the rifle—

* * *

><p>The refuelling truck sat peacefully in the middle of the taxiway, minding its own business (as trucks usually do). Two soldiers chatted to each other a short distance away; another soldier was walking from the truck towards them, one ear to his radio.<p>

_Zing! _A bullet hit metal.

Then the truck exploded. The airmen ran for cover as – _KA-BOOOM! – _a solid ball of fire screamed upwards from the back of the truck, billowing and roaring, flames licking at the sky. Bits of metal and shrapnel blew outwards. Embers scorched the tarmac. It looked like a mini mushroom cloud, scorching hot, until suddenly the blaze dissolved into air and all that was left was thick grey smoke and debris clanking to the ground.

General mayhem would've been an apt description. Soldiers ran every which way, some rushing to move nearby vehicles, some still stunned by the explosion, others trying to help or pointing their guns at shadows. The soldier with the radio climbed up off the ground and ran back to the black and twisted truck, flames still flickering from its rear.

Amid the commotion, no one would've noticed a suspiciously calm-looking sergeant get into a nearby jeep. They also wouldn't have noticed him slowly drive away, then suddenly speed up and blast through the exit gate as he turned onto the highway back to town.

* * *

><p>Jack blasted the jeep along the track at fifty miles an hour. He'd been trying to stay off the main roads, and right now he was basically driving through someone's field – there was a wire fence on his left and he'd just passed a grain silo in his rear view mirror. Further to the left, down the hill a ways, was the highway that led to Lillian.<p>

Then Jack saw something that made his blood run cold. He brought the jeep to a stop right there and stepped out onto the grass.

His face twitched. On the highway in the distance, a huge convoy of vehicles was snaking its way northwards. Cars, trucks, vans, jeeps, even some big green army buses. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. They had to be coming from town, but going… where? They were broadcasting something from one of the trucks' P.A. systems and Jack could hear it from here: _"…driving your own vehicle, follow the caravan to the evacuation center. Please stay with the caravan…"_

Jack leapt back into the jeep and sped off down the track, startling a couple of nearby horses.

* * *

><p>The jeep roared down the highway, all alone on the open road. Jack had overtaken the convoy and was racing ahead as soon as he'd figured out where they were going. <em>Greenville Air Base. Of course that's where they'd put everybody.<em> But it was getting dark; almost twilight. Trees blurred past on either side and behind him, thick smoke clouds blocked out the sky, together with a sinister orange glow. Jack flicked on the headlights, just as, coming the other way…

…he passed a big blue Pontiac Catalina, heading back _into_ town.

And he would've been rather surprised if he'd seen who was inside. Donny was driving, one hand on the wheel while Joe rode shotgun, peering anxiously up ahead for any approaching military vehicles. The other three were squeezed into the back seat with their bags – luckily, the jeep that just passed hadn't tried to stop them.

"If the air force has already searched Woodward's house, wouldn't they have searched stuff in the schoolroom too?" Martin asked.

"Yeah man, I was just thinking about that too," Charles replied.

"Donny, dude, this car is _gnarly_," Cary said admiringly. He tapped Donny on the shoulder, who smiled.

"No kidding."

Then, as usual, everyone started talking over everyone else. "Maybe his room, but not the dungeon," Joe said.

"Where's the dungeon?" Martin asked.

"In the parking lot in front of the school."

Cary leaned forwards and touched the seat. "I mean, dude, it's got some real leather!"

"Woodward keeps all _kinds_ of stuff in the dungeon," Charles muttered. "But what makes you think that his research is there?"

"Cary, keep your fingers off of it!" Martin exclaimed.

"_You_ keep your fingers off it!"

"Because there has to be a reason that he locks it."

"Cary, you're not—"

"SHUT – UP!" Donny shouted exasperatedly. He glared over his shoulder and they quickly fell silent. For a moment, the only sound was the grumble of the engine.

"So what kind of music does she like? Your sister," Donny asked, looking at Charles in the mirror.

"I don't care… disco, I guess."

"I can get back into disco," Donny murmured. He nodded to himself as Charles stared out the window, somewhat unenthusiastically.

Up ahead, they were coming up to an intersection. "We shouldn't take River Road, they put a roadblock up," Joe said.

"Dork, I saw it," Donny replied. "Observe." He yanked the wheel right and they swung onto a thin dirt road, just visible in the twilight – some unmarked track that led around the back of town. Then he switched on the lights and pumped the accelerator, and the car rumbled away into the night.

* * *

><p>It was a town covered in darkness, a coat of shadows that somehow made it seem… grimmer, lonelier than usual; a lack of light and warmth, except for the occasional empty shop and clouds that were gilded pink on the horizon. Lillian was empty. Dark houses, deserted streets, cars abandoned on the sidewalk. It seemed like the air force platoons were all clustered around the town centre, because the roads had all been silent as they headed towards the school. No patrols. No roadblocks. They drove down past the 7-Eleven – one of the few buildings that still had lights on – and pulled into the Lillian Middle School parking lot, just as the last remnants of daytime faded from the sky.<p>

The engine stopped.

"So what, I just wait here like a douche?" Donny asked.

Joe nodded. "Yes. Thank you _so_ much for doing this. Do you have a tire iron?"

Donny sighed.

But yes, he did have a tire iron.

* * *

><p>They piled out of the car, grabbing their bags as Joe took the tire iron from the boot. Doors slammed shut. Donny leant back and switched off the headlights and suddenly the world was dark again.<p>

The school looked... oddly familiar, almost like nothing had changed since the start of the holidays (barely a week ago, though that seemed hard to believe). A few yellow school buses still remained by the front entrance. The bins were still filled with paper and old books. The noticeboard still said 'HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!' in big, blocky letters.

But so much _had _changed.

"Come on, it's over here."

Joe led the way as they jogged off through the parking lot – Woodward's trailer was kept in an semi-hidden spot around the side of the school. They ran to the chain-link fence that bordered the staff parking area and threw their bags over the top, climbed up the wire quickly and dropped down on the other side. Then they kept running, into an alleyway, with the big beige gymnasium on one side and the grassy sports field on the other. A couple of the outside lights were still glowing, illuminating the concrete pathways and a big brown flag for the _Lillian Middle School Lions_. Then it was up a few steps, past a low fence, and there – around the back of the gym – there was the trailer. Parked next to a couple of electrical switchboards, a few bits of rubbish stuck under the wheels.

Woodward's trailer (a.k.a. the dungeon) was basically a big metal box, maybe three metres long, painted white originally but with rust creeping up the sides. It had a set of doors in the back, locked by some kind of sliding latch; they immediately jogged up to it and gathered around as Joe stuck the tire iron between the bolts. He tugged on it a few times, then another time, hard – "Grrgh!" – but it didn't budge.

"Joe, let me try. Joe, let me TRY!" Charles said excitedly. He grabbed the tire iron and tried to pry it open, grunting and straining–

"God, I hope my Electronic Football's in there," Cary murmured.

–but nothing. The metal didn't even rattle. "Joe, this is impossible man, there's no way we can do this," he said, suddenly starting to panic. "Seriously, we shouldn't even _be_ here!" Joe ignored him and kept peering at the latch. Martin snatched the tire iron off of Charles and tried to open the trailer himself. He knocked Cary out of the way – "What the hell are you doing, Martin!? You just don't push people, okay?" – and started wiggling it back and forth.

"These things are built like a bank vault, like a safe!" Charles was saying, getting more and more agitated. "We're not going to be able to into this thing. Professional _robbers_ can't even get into these things! They're so strong!"

Martin twisted the tire iron until it was flat against the door. He pushed down, heard something give; bit his lip, moved the bar a little, pushed downwards again and—

_Clink! _The bolt fell to the ground, sheared in two.

"Shit!" Cary said admiringly.

The others stared at the broken latch for a second, then at Martin, who was breathing heavily with a rather pained expression on his face.

"I loosened it for you," Charles said defensively.

"No you _didn't._"

An owl hooted in the distance. Joe dug through his bag for his flashlight, switched it on. Martin wiped his glasses with his shirt. Charles and Cary undid the latch in silence; they paused for a moment to exchange a glance, then they grasped the handles and pulled the doors open, which swung slowly outwards on old, creaking hinges.

And inside the trailer, there was...


	16. Truth

_Author's Note: Sorry for that slight cliffhanger last time! Just noticed I've almost hit 60,000 words, which means that a) this is actually approaching novel length and b) I probably need to be more ruthless in my editing (or actually do editing in the first place :-p. It's interesting, going back to read a chapter you wrote a month ago and seeing all the bits you want to change…)._

_Anyway, I'm writing a bit faster as I go along, so I'm hoping to get this story finished well before the end of the year. Or, failing that, by midnight on the 31__st__ of December. We shall see! Thanks to all you guys who are still reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story._

_FUN FACT: You may not know this, but I actually pay a bit of attention to my chapter names. This one alternated between 'Truth', 'The Truth' (big difference!), 'April 8__th__ 1963', 'Captured' and 'Regret'._

* * *

><p><span>Truth<span>

And inside the trailer, there was…

Stuff. _Lots_ of stuff. Four boys peered into Woodward's dungeon, awed expressions on their faces.

"Guys…" Joe breathed.

"Look at all this _junk_," Martin groaned.

The trailer was filled with all sorts of things – boxes, papers, books, pens, dusty electronics, all piled up to chest height. There were even a few old chairs and tables half-buried under the clutter (but no Electronic Football, much to Cary's dismay). Joe swept his flashlight over the stacks, looking for anything vaguely interesting. _Research, research, where's the research… _Some of the boxes looked kind of important; they had labels on them, dates, places, like _'Foxtrot-Zebra-Echo, b. A-51'_.

"He's got movies in here," Charles muttered. He took a big film reel from atop one of the piles, turned it over in his hands. It looked… old.

"Okay, guys. Just grab as much as you can," Joe said firmly. "Paper, boxes, movies, whatever. And then we're going to break into the school."

"What?!" Charles asked.

"We're gonna break into the school."

"No! We are _not_! No! Joe, you can't just—"

* * *

><p>"I can't believe we're breaking into the school!" Charles hissed.<p>

They skidded around the corner and into the hallway, shoes squeaking on the vinyl.

"_Nobody _does that! _Idiots_ do that!"

Torches flashed in the gloom. They ran past dozens of empty lockers, holding boxes, books, as much as they could carry. Joe led the way to Dr Woodward's classroom (door locked, of course) and, after the briefest hesitation – _clink! _– he smashed in the window with Donny's tire iron. Charles swore under his breath. Glass tinkled to the floor. Joe scraped off all the sharp edges and reached through the gap, turned the handle. The door swung open before them.

Dr Woodward was clearly a chemistry teacher, from the big periodic table on the wall and the gas taps and sinks along the benches. They rushed in and Cary flicked on a couple of lights while the others reached for some chairs (which had been stacked up on the tables for the holidays). The boxes were dumped on a couple of benches in the middle and they started digging through.

Alice was counting on them.

* * *

><p>"Dr Woodward was dishonourably discharged from Nellis Air Base, in…" Joe had to squint to read the tiny writing. "…in 1963, because of 'subversive conduct,' whatever that is."<p>

They were just looking for anything that would _help_; sitting around a table, surrounded by hundreds of documents and folders and photographs and film canisters and cassette tapes. Charles was threading one of the film reels into the classroom's projector. Cary had somehow found his confiscated Electronic Football game and was currently glued to the screen, which now and then emitted a happy electronic jingle.

"Hey, look, it's Old Man Woodward." Martin held up a photograph.

Charles took it, looked at it with his flashlight. "…Back when he was like, Middle-Aged Man Woodward."

"Yeah. He's been tracking this thing since 1958…"

Joe glanced up at the projector as the first movie started playing. It was grainy, black and white, set inside some sort of big shed or hangar; the camera was pointed at several enormous black… _things_ arranged on the concrete. They looked like armour plating, like something that you'd find on a battleship, or a tank – sharp, triangular surfaces bending at strange angles, mostly smooth, sometimes rough. The pieces loomed twenty metres high, arcing overhead, held upright by long cables and scaffolding.

A couple of scientists stood in the foreground, looking up at the black monoliths in silence. The one closest to the camera was intact but the one furthest away was buckled and torn.

"What is this?…" Joe mumbled to himself.

Charles grabbed the film canister. "It says, 'April 8th, 1963 incident'. I dunno."

The camera cut to a different scene. A group of maybe a dozen men were sitting on chairs, arranged around the first black piece. Some wore suits – like Air Force dress uniforms – but most were wearing white lab coats, busily scribbling notes onto clipboards. Scientific instruments were scattered on a nearby table.

_Cha-ching!_ Cary's electronic football beeped loudly. Joe glared at him. "Cary!"

"...What."

"We have to _find_ this thing! Come on!"

"Okay, sorry." Cary put the game down and picked up the cassette in front of him, put it in the tape deck. Dr Woodward's disembodied voice crackling through the room.

_"…I told them that this creature is more sophisticated than any of us. That his 'species' is predominantly subterranean, and that he is being treated without compassion or respect."_

"Subterranean," Joe breathed.

The others kept reading. Charles handed Martin a sheaf of papers labelled _'UFO CRASH: MAJOR NELEC IN CHARGE OF OPERATIONS. TWO ALIEN BODIES, ONE LIVING. RESTRAINTS USED. EXPERIMENTS CONDUCTED.'_

_ "I explained that all he wants is to rebuild his ship. A__ craft made up of those cubes, a complex shape-shifting alloy – _remarkable_ material that we'll never fully understand."_

Everyone looked up at the mention of the cubes. One the screen, the same group of scientists was sitting before the black shard; one leaned forwards, slowly turning a knob on a piece of equipment. And, as the scientists watched – the whole bus-sized piece just twitched, and then _dissolved_. Dissolved into millions of the little white cubes, which fell to the floor in a shining waterfall and scattered across the concrete.

"Woah…"

"Shit!"

"_He has been desperate to reconstitute his ship since it crashed here, in '58. But instead of giving him the help he needs, we've held him as a prisoner."_

The camera panned from the astonished scientists over to the avalanche of cubes. They walked to the pile and began picking them up, turning them over, scanning them with Geiger counters. Dr Woodward was one of them – looking a lot younger, but it was definitely him, talking with one of his colleagues.

"Guys, it's Dr Woodward!" Cary exclaimed.

They all stared at the flickering movie, the other research temporarily forgotten. Now one of the cubes was sitting in a petri dish as Woodward sprayed chemicals onto it.

Then a card flashed up on the screen:

**APRIL 8**

**1963**

A new scene. There was Dr Woodward, pushing a trolley through a room filled with gauges, desks, ancient computers. He looked… grim. Uneasy. Like a man on his way to be hanged.

_"He's been restrained and experimented upon, biopsied, and tortured by Nelec. Through pain and lack of compassion, we have taught him to _hate us all_. We have turned him into an enemy." _His voice on the tape was full of foreboding.

Cut to a different room. It had a black-and-white tiled floor and a high ceiling; in the far wall were two sets of thick, reinforced bars, one a few metres above the other. Beyond them was just black, inky darkness.

Dr Woodward was there. On his trolley was a big slab of meat – it looked like a cow's leg and glistened with wetness. Other scientists stood around the room, fiddling with big banks of equipment, or talking with each other.

Woodward skewered a smaller bit of meat on a pole and walked up to the bars. Offered it to the darkness within. He was nervous; edging forwards, trying to peer into the shadows. But nothing happened. The meat slid off the pole and flopped to the floor inside. The doctor turned around to grab the other piece of meat, when suddenly—

A long, muscular arm _shot _out of the blackness and wrapped around Woodward's chest.

Martin screamed. "Aaah!"

"Oh my GOD!" Cary shouted.

The arm – or was it a tentacle? – whipped him up into the air, just a blur, a millisecond of motion. He was held there, dangling, helpless. Like a piece of meat.

"_Jeez…_ what the hell?!" Charles murmured.

"What _is_ that thing? Guys, shit!"

Martin put his face in his hands. "I can't watch this," he said miserably, "I can't—"

"Martin, you're gonna throw up, man."

Woodward's voice still crackled in the background. _"_I told them I knew these things because he made contact with me, that he makes a psychic connection – by touch. _The moment I made contact, I understood him – and he me. What I know is that if we don't change this and begin _helping _him… we will all pay the price."_

Joe forced himself to keep looking at the projector. The arm rippled back and forth through the air, out of focus – then suddenly it coiled back into the cage and Woodward was released, fell heavily to the ground. The scientists ran over to their fallen colleague who was writhing in pain on the floor.

Joe stood up, walked towards the screen. The movie, the voice on the tape... it all made _sense_ now. The air force taking over the town. Dr Woodward crashing into that train. "He wasn't trying to kill it," Joe realised.

Charles had figured it out too. "He was trying to help it escape…"

_Clang!_

There was muffled crash in the distance. "Oh my god!" Cary hissed.

"Did you guys hear that?" Martin asked. They all whirled around, looking for the source of the noise. It sounded like it had come from somewhere nearby.

_ "Nelec won't listen. He'll have me discharged. But I won't give up. I will do _everything_ in my power… to set him free." _On the film Woodward was being carried away, looking around the room dazedly. "_Help him rebuild that ship. I won't—"_

Charles switched off the projector.

The room went dark again – dark, and silent. The waited. Listened. Joe turned to glance at the door, at the window he'd broken earlier. Martin swallowed, heart beating fast. It was quiet. Maybe it had just been the wind, something falling over...

Then BANG! The door burst open and suddenly _armed-fucking-commandos_ started pouring into the classroom. The world instantly erupted into a cloud of panic and screaming. Shadows, green uniforms, flashes of light_—_

"FREEZE! NOBODY MOVE!"

"Holy shit!"

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot me!"

"DO NOT MOVE!"

"I didn't—"

Martin put his hands in the air. Charles put his hands on a desk. Cary backed away as Joe found himself frozen in place, disbelieving, torches glaring in his eyes. The commandos rushed forwards, surrounding them, holding guns to their shoulders and looked about an inch away from using them. "Stop! _STOP!_"

"Oh my god!"

"_SHIT!"_

"Please, we just—"

"EVERYBODY DOWN!"

"Don't kills us! Please don't kill us! _Please don't k_—"

* * *

><p>A couple of big air force trucks rolled through the middle school parking lot, engines rumbling in the night. They were quite loud, and <em>quite <em>large. If anyone had, hypothetically, been waiting in the carpark right at that moment - they probably would've noticed.

But Donny Olsen couldn't have cared less. This was because he was still sitting inside his Pontiac Catalina, puffing happily on a newly-rolled joint.

Donny chuckled to himself. He leaned back, eyes closed. The world was just a pleasant, druggy haze, filled with thoughts of Jen Kaznyk and the mint tunes playing on the radio.

_"Un-der-cover angel, answer to my prayer_

_ You made me know that there's a love for me_

_ Out there, somewhere…"_

* * *

><p>"We've got positive I.D. here. It's just a bunch of kids."<p>

The lights had been switched on in the building outside, harsh and bright compared to the dim classroom. Joe and his friends blinked as they were pushed out into the hallway - quiet, scared, bewildered. Wondering about how the hell this had happened, about Woodward, about how the military had found them. For the moment it didn't look like they were going to be shot, but there were still an awful lot of guns pointed at their backs. Air force men were standing guard on either side and, coming down the corridor towards them—

"Oh, _shit_," Charles whispered.

—was a grim-looking air force colonel, the one they'd seen running things around town. He had a deep-lined face and dark, piercing eyes; the badge on his uniform said _'NELEC'_, Colonel Nelec, and he walked with a sort of casual menace. He was flanked by a tall, dark-skinned Sergeant – _'OVERMEYER'_ – and three other air force troopers with rifles on their backs.

They came to a stop before the ragtag group. Nelec did _not_ look amused.

"Search 'em," he ordered.

The soldiers stepped forwards. They started patting down their pockets, then grabbed their backpacks roughly and started looking through. No one even _thought_ about running; four boys against a squad of soldiers seemed like pretty poor odds.

Nelec held out a hand. "Let me see that."

Cary shrugged off his bag and handed it over, a defiant look in his eyes. The Colonel unzipped it and pulled out a handful of dirty yellow cylinders.

"I rolled those M-80s myself," Cary said grimly.

Nelec looked up, in either irritation or surprise.

"That's right."

"Jesus, Cary, _shut up_," Martin hissed.

Nelec dropped the bag. Then he looked over at Joe. Narrowed his eyes. "…You're the Deputy's boy," he said slowly.

Joe stared back, eyes wide.

And then Joe felt a hand on his chest. He glanced down, saw Overmeyer's fingers dip into his front jacket pocket. They closed around something heavy and silver and Joe felt his heart stop.

The soldier pulled out his mother's locket and held it up to the light, dangling from one finger.

"No…" he whispered.

Overmeyer looked at him emotionlessly and slipped the necklace into his uniform.

"Move out," the colonel muttered.

The other soldiers finished up their checks. The boys exchanged worried glances as the air force men formed up around them, leading them onwards down the hall in terrifying, stomach-churning silence. Joe stared dully at Overmeyer's back, breathing in, and out, in, and out, wanting to run, or cry, or snatch it back. To do something.

But of course, he didn't.

* * *

><p>A bus was waiting for them outside in the parking lot. It was dotted with orange indicators and red-and-white headlamps, and the exterior was old, worn, painted pale blue with <em>US AIR FORCE <em>stencilled on the side. The windows all had thin metal bars running across them... as if this wasn't the first time this bus had carried prisoners.

The boys were ushered on board, followed by their air force guards. The driver shut the doors with a _hiss - t_hen the engine grumbled and the bus rolled forwards, out of the school and into the darkening night.

This time, Donny _did_ notice. He watched the bus drive off in his rear-view mirror, still smoking the joint, utterly confused. "Oh shit," he said. "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."

Donny sank down into his seat, stoned mind racing. A couple of neurons finally clicked together and – staying hidden from the remaining military – he scrambled for his CB radio, turned it to channel nine, grabbed the mike. "Breaker, breaker," he said frantically, "requesting police backup, over?! Breaker, breaker one-nine, is this the police channel?"


	17. The Bus

_Author's Note: Sorry for my lengthy silence – there were a couple of other projects I had to get done. But I'm back! This whole section is one of my favourites in the movie actually, a great piece of suspenseful filmmaking, so it was fun to try and capture it on paper. It works really well as an action set-piece while also providing a bit of redemption for Nelec, and it feels utterly believable (if I was in a bus being attacked by an alien monster, I'd probably scream a hell of a lot too). It's an interesting challenge to describe such a confusing situation and try and keep up the same level of intensity for 4000-odd words. _

_In other news, university has started again so I won't have as much time to write, but I'll still try and update semi-regularly. This chapter was written over five nights between 11PM-1AM because apparently that's the only chunk of spare time I have nowadays; THAT IS HOW DEDICATED I AM TO YOU :-p_

_EDIT: The script of the movie actually has a few extra lines of dialogue scattered throughout. I've added them to this chapter where I can, and I might go back and add them to the earlier chapters too – it's nothing too important but there's some nice jokes here and there._

* * *

><p><span>The Bus<span>

To Jack Lamb's tired and watchful eyes, it looked completely crazy_. Crazy. _The whole _town _was here, crammed into the old, rusting airplane hangars of the Greenville Air Base – people streaming back and forth, leaning against concrete pillars, crowded together like sardines in a can. (Or rats in a trap, more like.) Jack pushed through in his ill-fitting air force uniform doing his best to look as if he knew what he was doing, but everyone had the same nervous energy, the same jumpy look in their eyes.

He couldn't blame them. He could barely believe what was happening himself. To the left he passed a low, gloomy room straight out of a World War 2 air-raid shelter, lights flickering dimly. To the right…

"Staff Sergeant." A soldier nodded to him as he strode past.

"Hi. How're…"

The soldier ignored him and disappeared into the crowd.

"…you doing?" Jack said uncertainly. He shook his head and started walking again, told himself to calm down and say something less god-awfully stupid next time.

To the right was the main hangar – a big open space that was now filled with camp beds and luggage and yet more people, from teenagers sitting around in circles to babbling worried parents to senior citizens lying on their blankets out cold. It was divided up into sections by sheets of canvas; Jack looked around for anyone that he knew, anyone that could help, someone he could talk to about everything that had happened—

There! Over by the wall. A distinctive black police uniform. Jack edged past a couple of beds, past a guy in a grey suit.

"Hey Mr. Lamb!" a voice said brightly.

Jack whirled around, saw one of Mrs. Piper's kids smiling at him from the floor. "Shhhhh!" He patted the kid's head and continued moving, hoped no one had noticed. "Rosko!"

Deputy Rosko was standing a few metres away. He turned around, and his face flashed through recognition and happiness and annoyance all in quick succession. "Hey! Where the hell have you been?" he hissed. "And what are you _wearing_?"

"Come here!" Jack kept walking and Rosko had to run a little to catch up. He led them over to an emptier section of the hangar, shielded from the rest by a couple of thick sheets. A single globe hung overhead and they faced each other beneath it. "The Air Force set that fire," he said quickly, "they want the town empty for some reason. This whole operation, this whole military operation, the evacuation, everything, it's all bad. We need to find why the—"

Rosko put a hand on his shoulder. "Did you hear about Joe?" he asked.

Jack paused mid-rant.

"Look," Rosko whispered, "Dispatch just got a call on citizens' band, Joe and some of his friends – they were grabbed by military personnel at the middle school."

Jack's gaze flickered. He looked into Rosko's kind, concerned eyes, at the hangar all around, trying to understand. Strange, how one word could make you forget about everything else.

* * *

><p>Preston was nose-deep in the latest issue of Isaac Asimov's Adventure Magazine when someone slapped it roughly from his hands. He glanced up, about to give his new visitor a stern piece of mind – when suddenly he found himself staring right into the tense, angry eyes of Deputy Jack Lamb (in an air force uniform, no less). Preston flinched and shrank back into the bed with an expression of utmost fear on his face.<p>

Jack glared at him. Then he leant down until their noses were almost touching. "Preston," he said, with a voice like death itself. "You tell me everything, and I won't throw you in _jail_."

Preston shivered. "…Yessir," he managed eventually. "But I think you should look at this first." He felt around under the bed for a small plastic reel and held it up between them. A film reel.

Jack glanced at it.

Preston swallowed.

* * *

><p>The army bus whizzed along the highway towards Greenville, surrounded on every side by darkness. It was the only vehicle on the moonlit road; its grumbling engine the only sound. Red taillights glowed in the night, trailing through the cold air.<p>

Inside, it was tense. Cracked leather seats and feeble yellow light. The driver stared straight ahead, adjusting the wheel as the road came twisting out of the darkness. In the passenger's seat another soldier announced into a radio: "Chief Master Sergeant, Dustoff-Oh-Three is twenty minutes out."

"_Roger that_," was the faint reply. _"Perimeter secure. Standing by on lookout, prepare to engage."_

The soldier put the radio down and stood up. Turned and made his way down the aisle. Most of the seats were empty, except for two – Overmeyer sat near the front, reading through a manila folder, and behind him on the other side was Nelec, gazing into the distance, a sort of grim smirk on his face. The soldier sat down behind Nelec and took out his rifle, made sure it was loaded with a few soft clicks.

"_Teams Kilo-Lima-Mike-November in position."_

_ "Teams Oscar-Foxtrot-Quebec-Romeo in position. Cocked and locked, ready to go."_

At the back of the bus, there was a sealed compartment. Floor-to-ceiling panes of dirty safety glass formed a wall across its width, taking in the last three windows, with a locked door in the middle of the aisle (almost like a transparent cage). Seats were arranged around the edges of the compartment, and sitting in these seats were Charles, Cary, Martin and Joe – Charles and Cary on one side, Martin and Joe on the other, all looking towards the front with scared, haunted eyes. Martin was barely keeping it together, twitching and turning his head. Cary put his head in his hands. Charles looked like he was going to be sick. And Joe was feeling it too – how it had all gone so wrong so fast. How he'd led his friends into this godawful situation. How Dr. Woodward had met the alien all those years ago, and changed everything… and how every moment the bus drove took them further away from Alice.

Charles took a couple of quick breaths. Leaned forwards. "What – what's gonna happen to us?" he asked nervously.

"I think we're gonna die," Cary replied, looking up.

Martin shook his head. "Shut up man. They, they wouldn't do that." His voice cracked.

"I'm not kidding. I think they're gonna kill us."

The bus rumbled onwards, bouncing a little as it passed some bumps in the road.

"Guys…" Joe swallowed. "Guys, I forced you to come with me. I – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"Don't say that. They're _not_ gonna kill us," Charles said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're just—"

_CRASH!_

A shape from the darkness _slammed_ into the bus behind Joe's head, shattering the windows, sending glass exploding inwards. The entire bus rocked, rolling, throwing them forwards, Joe flailing against his seatbelt, Charles yelling as he leaned back, lights flickering as Nelec and the other soldiers tumbled from their seats in a cloud of uniforms and paper. There was an enormous _SCREECH!_ as the bus' tires scrabbled for purchase – then another screech, more animal, the hint of a shape galloping away in the darkness, but no one had time to see it as the bus was somehow riding up on two wheels at fifty miles an hour like some insane circus trick.

"HOLD ON!" The driver struggled with the wheel and the bus slewed to the right, coming dangerously close to the edge of the road. "Hold on!" The lights kept blinking, black-white black-white. Back in the compartment Charles and Cary were screaming; Joe looked to the front as the world tilted wildly. The bus was still driving at a 45 degree angle. A tire blew somewhere and metal shrieked, then physics took control again and the bus _crashed_ back down to earth. The soldiers were thrown across and smacked into the windows as another tire exploded with the impact. Joe and Martin were whipped painfully back into their seats. The bus kept rolling, two of its tires gone, wheels sparking on the highway.

"Was that that thing from the train?" Charles shouted.

"Was that _it_? Oh my god!"

"I can't see anything? Do you see anything?!" Martin shouted back.

"Not yet—"

"Sir, I gotta pull over!" The driver was barely clinging to his seat, eyes wide as the bus skidded across the road. He locked the brakes and the bus slowed down _fast_ – everyone jolted forwards as it came to a sudden, screeching stop, hissing and steaming as the engine ticked over.

It was a nondescript section of highway. Somewhere between Lillian and Greenville, surrounded by trees and deep shadows. From overhead, the bus was just a little bar of light, almost lost amongst the dark, forested hillsides – an island in the moonlight.

"Why are we stopping?" Charles squeaked. "Why are we stopped?"

Joe and Martin looked around in panic as Cary gulped in air. "Holy shit. Oh my god, guys—"

At the front it was still mayhem; one soldier was speaking urgently into a radio as the Nelec and Overmeyer loaded rifles from a box under the seat. "Contact with precious cargo, three clicks from city centre. Currently heading towards Fortress, send support immediately, we do _not_ have visual—"

"Driver!" Overmeyer barked. "Can you see anything up there?"

"No sir! Nothing!" He stared into the darkness, hands shaking. The engine kept stalling whenever he tried to restart it.

Back in the compartment, Charles was peering forward, trying to figure out what was going on. Nelec was putting something together; some kind of weapon. Jet black with a long barrel. "…What's that gun?"

Cary actually answered. "Sako Bolt Action thirty-aught-six with a Leatherwood Art Scope and seven-point-six-two millimetre am—"

"Okay, we get it!"

Now Nelec was loading the rifle as the lights still flickered, pale yellow, blinking on and off. The other soldiers strained to see out of the bus, moving to different windows.

"Those aren't bullets," Cary said. "He's loading tracking darts."

Charles shivered and started fiddling with his seatbelt. Joe frowned.

"Charles, what're you doing?"

Up the front, Colonel Nelec stood up. Stepped forward. He handed the rifle to Overmeyer and said: "Here. Tag it."

Overmeyer was stunned for a second. He turned to Nelec, the slightest bit of fear visible in his face, but the Colonel just stared straight ahead. Grim and determined, as always.

"…Yes sir," Overmeyer replied. He took the rifle. Looked down at it, then back up into the night. The highway was just a pale yellow strip – maybe twenty metres of it lit by the bus' fading headlights, the rest of it dark and impenetrable.

"Open the door," Nelec ordered.

The driver seemed reluctant as hell to do _that_. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the order; then, after a tense moment, he reached for the door controls. Took the lever with a sweaty hand. Pushed it sideways.

With a soft _hiss_, the door slid open.

Sounds immediately flooded through the open gap: crickets chirping, insects buzzing. A frog somewhere nearby. Maybe an owl in the distance. Everyone was quiet – the boys, the soldiers, all frozen. Watching. Listening. Trying to see through the bushes and shadows.

Overmeyer took a breath, then started walking cautiously – hands on the gun, head tilted at a slight angle as if it would help him see (it didn't). His boots scraped on the thin carpet. Both Nelec and the other guard were standing in their seats, leaning forwards in anticipation. The boys watched him from the back, Martin whimpering, Cary shivering, Joe barely able to breathe.

"I don't feel good about this," Charles said quietly.

Overmeyer raised the rifle to his shoulder. The lights went off for a few long seconds, then blinked back on again. He kept shuffling, looking through the front windows; he was about five feet from the door when he paused. Turned to Nelec. "Sir, is there a particular area that you'd want me to shoot—"

_KRRRASSHH!_ An arm suddenly _BURST_ in through the open door, thick as a tree trunk, grabbed Overmeyer around his chest.

"AAAH!"

The boys all jumped in shock and freaking _terror_. There was a vibrating, high-pitched roar, so loud it drowned out everything else, the driver's howls, Charles shriek, Joe's horrified shout. Overmeyer was lifted into the air and slammed head-first into the window. He cried out in pain; Nelec recoiled and fell back. The arm was huge, grey and rippling and it whipped Overmeyer in the other direction, slamming him into the driver who crumpled under the impact, then back to the other side, cracking the windshield, jolting the whole bus, back into the driver with bonecrunching force and finally the gun dropped from his hands and—

BANG! A searing flash and the rifle fired and a tranq dart speared into the bulletproof glass _right in front_ of Charles' head, spiderwebbing the surface. Charles flinched and screamed again. "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"

There was another alien roar, low, haunting. Overmeyer was almost dragged out through the door but he managed to grab onto a seat, blood in his mouth, suspended in the air by the creature's shadowy grip. "Help!" he cried. "Heeeeelllp!" He reached out to the driver with one outstretched arm who reached back uncertainly and their fingers touched for the briefest of moments – but too late.

Overmeyer was yanked out of the bus, still screaming, swallowed by the darkness. _"Aaauuuggghhh!..."_

"AAH!" Joe shouted involuntarily, wide-eyed, in utter shock. Behind him Martin vomited, chunks of orange streaming from his mouth.

"Oh my god MARTIN!" Cary yelled. Puke spilled across the floor. In the main section of the bus Nelec roared at the driver: "GET US OUT OF HERE _NOW!_" He whipped around, turned to the other remaining soldier. "What other firepower to we have?"

Charles was panicking more and more, scrambling to unlatch his seatbelt. Joe saw him, slapped him on the shoulder. "Charles! Maybe we should wait!"

"THERE'S A _MONSTER_ OUT THERE, JOE!"

"What the hell is it?!"They looked over their shoulders, up, down, trying to spot the thing that had attacked them but seeing nothing but shadows. The driver turned the key again and again, heard the engine stall uselessly—

_BAM!_ The bus was pushed sideways by something on the other side, grinding across the road. Metal screeched. Joe and the others were jolted in their seats. They whirled around, freaking out as the bus was pushed, once, twice by an unseen force, sliding it towards the forest.

"AAH!"

"What the hell is that?!" Cary shouted.

Then the engine came to life with a cough. The driver called out "I got it sir!", revved it up and slipped it into gear, but then – BAM! – there was another push even harder than the last and then bus was suddenly tilting, further and further, pivoting on its broken wheels. Nelec scrambled for balance as the world shifted beneath their feet, fifteen tons of metal rising sickeningly in the air, tipping up to forty-five degrees and staying there for an awful moment…

Then falling. Fast. The bus _slammed_ sideways into the ground with an almighty crunch of metal, its right-side wall now a floor. Windows shattered, steel crumpled. The soldiers were all thrown to the ground. Dust exploded from the impact. Charles slipped and fell forwards and collapsed right on top of Joe, who suddenly found himself lying on his back, dazed, and the weight knocked the air from his lungs.

Outside: a soft and sinister growl. The bus settled on the tarmac, back wheels still spinning slowly. Inside: Charles grunted and pushed himself to his feet and Joe and Martin did the same, fumbling as the lights flashed hauntingly, bruised and battered but still alive.

"Guys, I need some help!" Cary yelled. He was pinned against the ceiling, suspended by the seatbelt across his stomach. "Ow, the seatbelt is killing me! Guys!"

"Unhook it!" Martin reached up with Joe and they undid the belt. They grabbed his shoulders and Cary dropped to the ground.

"Here, we got it!

"You guys okay?" The world was tilted disorientingly sideways. Joe quickly leapt across the seats to the fire escape hatch at the back, grabbed the red locking lever and pulled it hard. "Come on!"

In the main section, the floor was just a sea of broken glass. One of the soldiers was lying on his side, blood leaking from a wound in his skull, not moving. Unconscious or dead. Next to him, sprawled on the ground was Nelec…

…who raised his head. Slowly, painfully. Blood dripped from his nose. The creature howled again, a hoarse, trumpeting sound. Then there was a loud _crunch _as it _climbed_ up onto the exposed side of the bus – an enormous six-limbed spider, denting the metal with its weight as it crawled through the smoke. _Crunch. Crunch._

Nelec got up. He grabbed a radio off the ground, scared but pissed off. "This is Nelec. Use the big guns. Whatever happens to me, do _not_ let it leave—"

_CRASH! _An arm _busted_ in through the top side of the bus, whipping through the air, tearing up a seat with four thick fingers_. _Another long roar: _ROOoooOOOoooOOO! _Barely metres away Joe kept yanking at the hatch lever, face screwed up with effort.

"Joe, open it!" Cary shouted.

"Open the door!"

He pulled on it with his entire weight, adrenaline giving him strength, doing his best to ignore what was happening on the other side of the glass – but it wouldn't budge. "It's _bolted_!" he said frustratedly. Cary grabbed the lever himself as Charles groaned in anguish. "ARGH, I wanna go home so BAD!"

Joe pushed past them to the door to the compartment, turned the handle but it was locked tight as well. He shoved his hands against the glass. At the front of the bus the arm was still thrashing, grabbing at the walls amidst deafening alien roars.

"Open the door!" Martin yelled. "Please sir, just let us out!"

Nelec saw them trapped in the compartment and dropped the radio, ran over. He tried the handle but it wouldn't open for him either; he rattled it back and forth desperately, glanced up, met Joe's gaze for the briefest second.

"Please, open it!" Cary begged.

"Please sir, open the door!"

Nelec turned around. "WHERE ARE THE KEYS?"

"Overmeyer had them!" the driver shouted back. He was lying on his back, leg pinned under his seat. Blood was spattered on the windshield. "Help me! My leg's stuck!"

Nelec turned back to them. Stared at the four kids stuck in the compartment. The Deputy's boy pressed his face against the glass, voice muffled. "Please, open the door!"

Colonel Nelec paused. For once, they were trying to do the same thing. A shame that it had to happen in these circumstances.

The lights flickered. Dark-light, dark-light.

Nelec saw his own fear reflected in the boy's face…

… and he understood, in that moment, that this was his fate.

So many things left to say.

From the other side of the glass, Joe looked into Colonel Nelec's deep brown eyes. In that silent gaze, that craggy face, there seemed to be some echo of—

WHAM!

Nelec whirled around. Glass shattered again. The creature had busted the door off its hinges, one of its legs punching through the gap. Its five-toed foot hung over the driver's body, the claw of an ancient god, and as the driver saw it he shrieked and he raised his hands, tried to shrink away—

"NNOOOOOOO!"

The leg_ stomped_ down. The driver was there and then he wasn't as skin met metal with the force of a hydraulic ram. A thin sheen of gore burst out from under the creature's foot.

"AHHH!" The boys screamed in horror. Joe turned and collapsed against the door, eyes scrunched shut. Charles slammed his hand into the wall. "Another one _DEAD!"_

_KREEEEeeeeEE! _The creature bellowed triumphantly and moved further along the roof. _Crunch. Crunch. _Bits of metal burst like ice-chips. Joe shivered, trying to get that image of death out of his head, failing miserably and feeling his mind get filled with panic and darkness and splatters of blood. They were never getting out of here, they really were going to die, all of them, unless he could just think of think of think of…

Alice. In the middle of all the darkness, he saw her face. That river of blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. A smile. And he thought of her stuck in the darkness too, and remembered the whole reason they'd come, the whole reason they were here in the first place – b_ecause of me. Because we're going to _save_ her._

Joe opened his eyes. Scanned the compartment. He looked up at the wall that was now the ceiling, and the lights blinked, and suddenly he noticed that directly above them one of the bulletproof windows was cracked. A lot. He pointed. "Guys – there's, there's broken glass."

Cary looked and saw it too. "Guys!"

"Martin!" Joe rushed forwards. "Martin, let me get on your shoulders. Comon!"

"Yeah you can use me, I'm strong—"

"_I'm_ strong!" Charles retorted. But Martin bent down and Joe leapt clumsily onto his back, Cary and Charles steadying him until he had his legs around Martin's neck. "Go, go get up!"

"Here we go."

"Go!" Martin grunted and stood up. Joe kept his balance and reached upwards, managed to grab one of the metal bars that ran across the windows.

"Come on, Joe! You can do it!" Charles shouted.

"Come on Joe!"

He pressed his shoulder against the ceiling and drew back and smacked his elbow into the glass. It made a soft _thwack _noise, shuddered a little but stayed firm. Martin held onto his legs and Charles and Cary held onto Martin as the lights flicked off for a long second, all of them yelling at once, filled with adrenalin.

"Come on!"

"You can do it, Joe! Let's go!"

_Thwack._

"Come on! HARDER!"

_Thwack. _Joe continued bashing at the window as, on the other side of the bus, the alien was doing the exact opposite – perched above the open door, tearing at the metal, trying to widen the hole it had made. Rippling, looming in the moonlit smoke. _Thwack. _Inside, Nelec knelt down and grabbed a rifle off the floor; an M-16, heavy and black. He cocked it and flicked off the safety, looked up just in time to see the creature's arm push through the door again, lashing out wildly and denting the walls.

_Thwack_. Joe hit the glass again, as hard as he could.

"Go! Joe, please!" Martin yelled hoarsely.

_Thwack. Thwack._

"Come on!" Cary shouted. "Break the glass, you pussy!"

"Come on, Joe! Hit it! Come on!"

He did, and – _bam!_ – suddenly the glass crinkled into a thousand pieces. Joe leaned back but Charles and Martin hollered in pain as the shards rained down all over them, scratching at clothes and faces. Cary jumped away and glanced out the bus' rear window, saw nothing but skidmarks and empty road as Martin righted himself and pushed Joe upwards.

_RoooOOOoooOOO! Crack-crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack! _Nelec had started firing at the creature, the gunshots barely audible over the sound of its roars.

"Go, Joe! Move!"

Joe grabbed the edges of the window and pulled himself up, straining with both arms, now half-way, then more, pushing through, until suddenly he was out and collapsing on the side of the bus, breathing in the cold night air – except the air itself seemed to be _vibrating_, and when he turned to his left he saw the creature RIGHT THERE – its back to him, prying at the metal like a sardine can, impossibly huge – and he knelt there silently for an awful moment, almost paralysed in fear.

_Crack-crack-crack! _He saw muzzle flashes inside the bus. Nelec was still firing. The thing growled again, echoing, wavering. Then Martin was climbing out behind him and he crawled back; grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him up to safety.

Then it was Charles' turn. "We gotta go!" Martin barely had time to register the _freaking giant _grey monster before Charles' fingers were scrabbling metal, Cary helping him from below, Martin and Joe dragging from above as he struggled to climb through. He wriggled into the gap, accidentally lashed out with his foot and kicked Cary square in the face who fell back clutching his nose. "Augh!"

_Crunch. Crunch. Crack-crack-crack. _The creature snarled, ripped up another sheet of metal and threw it away into the night. Gunfire sparked in the darkness. Cary swore, Joe strained, Martin groaned and somehow Charles was slithering onto the roof as well, red-faced and breathing heavily beneath the open sky. He stared at the alien open-mouthed until all three of them reached in and yanked Cary out by his arms.

"Go! Come on guys, hurry!" They got to their feet on the side of the bus, Cary ushering them towards the rear…

…just as the creature climbed in. Nelec watched as it lowered itself through the hole it had made, dropping heavily to the ground, barely fitting into the tight space. _Crack-crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack! _ The rifle jumped in his hands. He backed away slowly along the length of the bus, grimly determined, heart pounding. _Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack—_

The creature forced itself forwards, smashing benches, pulverising them with single strikes of its limbs; made its way quickly, terrifyingly down the aisle towards him. The thing was a blur of thrashing muscle but all Nelec focused on was its face. A familiar face.

Outside, the boys all jumped to the ground, landing on their feet and sprinting off towards the side of the road. Martin glanced behind him and saw new dents appear in the bus' roof as the creature lashed about inside. The whole highway was covered in debris, burned rubber, shattered glass and they ran past all of it, breathlessly, into the dirt, towards a low grassy depression on the edge of the forest.

Nelec's rifle flashed again and again, the gunfire deafening as it bounced from the walls. He held it steady, still backing away, shooting in bursts – face locked in a tight grimace as the alien shrugged it all off. Still coming. Ignoring the bullets.

_RaaaARRGGH!_ It lunged at him and snarled. Nelec fired at near point-blank range. _Crack-crack-crack, crack-crack—_

_ Click!_

The magazine went empty.

Nowhere to go.

Nelec threw the gun to the ground. He stared at the monster defiantly, pressed up against the locked compartment. A futile gesture. _It was my turn once to find you, _he thought. _Now, it's your turn to – to…_

The creature descended, and the Colonel gazed upon its face. Glistening eyes. Flaring nose. Segmented mouth. Bony ridges. It definitely _was_ a face, but it was nothing of this world. The mouth parted, revealing mandibles and teeth and raw red flesh and it growled one last time; leant in close, so that their eyes were only a foot apart. It had… very _large_ eyes.

Silence, before the final lunge.

There was the barest hint of a smile upon Nelec's lips.

Then: a blur of teeth and a scream and an impact and blood sprayed thick all over the bulletproof glass door, obscuring the nightmare from view.

* * *

><p>The bus shuddered from side-to-side, echoing with sounds of destruction; the metal was twisted and torn along the top where the alien had forced its way in. Lying on the grass thirty metres away, the four boys watched in silence, not wanting to even<em> imagine<em> the brutality that was going on inside.

Then there was a low, clicking growl and the creature emerged from the depths, climbing out of the hole upon its many legs. It paused for a moment on the roof, then leapt off – fast and stealthy, away from them into the overgrown trees, like a native hunter. Which, of course, was partly what it was. They could hear it crashing through the undergrowth, breaking branches and snapping twigs until gradually the sounds faded away and the night was finally calm again.

The boys were… sort of stunned. They lay there pressed low into the grass, gulping down air, staring fearfully after the departed monster.

"Is it gone?" Cary asked eventually, whispering.

"Yeah, it's gone."

"Thank _god_. Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"You gotta lose some weight."

"I know." They were so exhausted, he couldn't even be bothered fighting back. "…I think I just sharteezed a little."

* * *

><p><em>End note: the 'sharteezed' thing is a reference to an earlier deleted line, where Charles talks about sneezing so hard that you shit yourself at the same time. This is incredibly gross and stupid but is also something a 13-year-old boy would say – so here it is! Next chapter coming soon(ish)…<em>


	18. We're Going Back

_Author's Note: Short chapter this time, but it does contain the first significant change to the movie's plot. One of the things I didn't like was Preston being left behind – it did suit his character, but I felt kind of bad for him and he seemed under-utilised in the movie (it also helps that I'm probably closest to Preston to real life). So let's see where this leads! For once, I'm making it up as I go along…_

_Also: Wooo! BEASBeth's back! :-)_

_Also also: I have a tumblr now! It lives at jetpacksunrise dot tumblr dot com, and features a whole bunch of posts about Super 8 including gifs, fancy graphics and music. You can visit it if you want. Maybe? Yes._

_EDIT 18/6/2013: Went through and rewrote some of the Preston stuff to make it a bit more Preston-y. (Thanks, airauralintensity!) Hopefully it's a bit more in-character now._

* * *

><p><span>We're Going Back<span>

Louis Dainard was lost. Well, not _lost – _technically, he was lying on his tiny air force hospital bed, surrounded by lamps and IV drips and fellow 'patients' at one end of the giant Greenville hangar.

But he felt lost. Lost amidst all of the strange lights and sounds. Lost in a haze of pain and painkillers. Lost, without her.

_He'd almost lost count of the times she'd run off into the night, of all the times he'd gone chasing after her, burning anger instantly fading to regret. Words, fists. It always happened when he'd been drinking. When he'd surrounded himself with painful memories. Maybe she'd start it – saying something she shouldn't, egging him on, just being a rebellious teenager. He started it more often than not, seeing insults and broken promises when really there were none. And then, always, the past would come rising up and suffocate them both._

Alice would run. He'd chase her.

Anger fading to regret.

He did love her. He did, even with their ghost of a family. And he thought she still loved him, deep down: even though sometimes it took a day or two… she always came back. Except now she hadn't.

Lost.

Suddenly, Louis felt hands grab him roughly by his shoulders. He was dragged to his feet, struggling to stand. His legs hurt. His heart hurt.

"Come with us."

"What?"

"We got some questions for you. Come on."

It was two air force soldiers, tall and muscular. They started pushing him forwards. Louis looked around, suddenly panicking. "Oh, no. Is she dead?"

"Just come with us." They kept walking, fast, holding onto his arms in a way that didn't seem very friendly—

"Hey, fellas!"

The soldiers stopped. One of their superiors had come up behind them – Wallace, his name was. "I've got orders from Colonel Nelec to personally deliver this man back to base," he announced.

The soldiers exchanged a glanced. Then nodded. "He's all yours, Staff Sergeant."

Wallace nodded in return, then took Louis' arm and started dragging him in the opposite direction. "Let's go," he muttered. As the soldiers moved off Louis looked up, still confused – and was abruptly even more confused when he saw that Staff Sergeant Wallace was in fact Deputy Jack Lamb in a baggy green air force uniform and cap. Grim face, square jaw. One person he thought he'd never be happy to see.

"…What are you doing?" Louis asked dimly. "Where are we going?"

Jack stared straight ahead as they walked, strong and resolute. "To find our kids."

* * *

><p>About twenty metres back, behind a thin curtain, a pair of eyes saw them go. The eyes were brown, dark and serious… and belonged to a certain Preston Mills.<p>

He was keeping watch from a safe distance, Charles' film reel still clutched in one hand, his magazine clutched in the other. Jack and Louis disappeared around the corner; Preston waited for a couple of seconds before darting out after them. He pushed through the curtain, squeezed past a couple of hospital beds and another group of patients and nervously pressed up against the far wall.

Deputy Lamb hadn't been very impressed when Preston had shown him the movie. In fact, he'd seemed downright furious to find out that some kind of alien monster had been prowling about Lillian. And he'd seemed even _more _furious when Preston had told him about Joe's plan – going back to town, finding the creature, rescuing Alice.

But the Deputy had kept his promise and hadn't thrown Preston in jail. He _had_ told him to stay put and not leave the evacuation center under any circumstances… but some rules were meant to be broken.

Not many. But some.

Preston took a breath, and peeked around the corner. He saw Jack and Louis skirting past the edge of the hangar, Jack walking quickly, Louis hanging onto his shoulder. The Deputy was nodding at every air force soldier that he passed; none of them appeared to have figured out that he was an imposter. Preston started following and tried to look innocent, but most people seemed far too busy to wonder about what some random teenager was doing.

Of course, that still left plenty of time for _him_ to wonder what he was doing. Which was a problem, because the more Preston thought about it, the more likely it was he'd convince himself that this was all a terribly bad idea and that he should just lie down like a good kid and read his magazine. _Just don't think about that_, he told himself. _Don't think about getting eaten, or shot, or the quite-high probability of death. Think about your friends. Friends are more important. Friends are… nice. And they could probably use your help._

Up ahead, Jack and Louis had reached some kind of side gate in the hangar. It was guarded by another couple of soldiers, but after a quick salute they stepped aside and let the pair through. Preston ducked down behind a barrel as Deputy Lamb took one last look over his shoulder.

And then the Deputy and Mr. Dainard were gone, walking free into the night. The soldiers closed the gate again and resumed chatting. Preston winced. Because the gate was a problem, and somehow he doubted that he'd be able to just waltz on through. _This calls for some creativity._

He looked around, searching for an exit. The hangar doors were all heavily guarded, and the windows and scaffolding were too high up to climb through. Everyone single person in the evac center was locked tightly inside. Maybe if he waited… no, he had to be quick. Then his eyes settled on a small trapdoor in the floor, half-covered by a canvas sheet. Maybe…

* * *

><p>On the edge of the deserted highway, Joe reached into a dead man's pocket. He felt around until his fingers touched a familiar silvery weight; pulled it out and held it dangling from one finger.<p>

The necklace. Always the necklace. He stared at it for a moment, turning it over in his hands, then exhaled with relief and tiredness. His barely even noticed Overmeyer's broken body, lying on the pavement before him – bloodied face, crumpled uniform, legs twisted at funny angles.

"Hey, guys! Guys, I found them!" Cary called out. He climbed back out onto the roof of the wrecked bus, holding his backpack in one hand. "Hey, guys! I found my firecrackers!"

"Congratulations!" Charles said sarcastically, not really giving a shit. He stood in the middle of the road, looking at the trees, shivering with nervousness. Wondering how Cary had forced himself to go back into that bloody metal deathtrap.

Beneath the huge black sky, Joe kept kneeling beside Overmeyer's body. He balanced the locket in one hand, then the other. Breathed slowly, in and out, focusing on the feel of it, the way the silver glinted in the starlight. The world all around felt so _big_, but if he just kept holding the necklace it seemed so much more manageable. So much more real.

Then Martin suddenly came running up behind them. "Let's go, guys, they're coming back!" He pointed down the highway to where a pair of headlights was fast approaching. They all turned to look, even Joe.

And no one moved. Frozen, with shock and indecision.

"I think we should go," Martin said desperately. "Guys, come on!"

They were clearly visible, caught out in the open. Easy prey if there were soldiers inside. The lights grew bigger. The car was close but they couldn't see it through the glare, could only hear the growling engine and the soft sound of… music?

Then Joe realised who it was. "No no. Look!"

_'Ah, freak out!_

_Le freak, c'est chic_

_Freak out!'_

Joe got to his feet just as Donny Olsen's blue Catalina pulled up right next to the toppled army bus. The engine sputtered and the lights flicked off - then the door flew open and Donny himself jumped out, arms spread, grinning so widely he looked like the happiest man in the world. "Ah! AAAH! You dorks are _ALIVE?"_ he shouted. "I didn't know… I thought that…"

His gaze turned to bus. Bullet holes, claw marks, two wheels sticking in the air. The grin faded.

"What the _fuck_?!"

"Donny. Donny," Joe said urgently, walking up to him. "We need a ride into town."

Donny looked around earnestly. "Okay, but just so you know, I'm _massively_ stoned right now."

"…Do you want me to drive?"

_'Ah, freak out!_

_Le freak, c'est chic_

_Freak out!'_

Martin stared. Charles stared. Cary stared from the top of the bus, backpack in one hand. Donny winced like it was hurting just to think.

Joe decided to take that as a 'yes'.

* * *

><p>Preston crouched down, glanced around to make sure no-one was watching – but he was the only person snooping in this quiet corner of the hangar. He kicked off the sheet and grasped the trapdoor handle, bracing himself against the dirty cement floor.<p>

_Crreeaak!_

He pulled it open with a grunt and stared distastefully into the space below. It looked like… some kind of hallway? First there was a cylindrical access shaft, which opened up into a thin, murky corridor, just bare concrete from what he could see. A rusty ladder led down from the trapdoor to the floor perhaps five metres below.

Tunnels, under the air base. He'd heard about these sorts of things – the soldiers would use them in emergencies to get around rapidly, or if the airbase was under attack.

This probably qualified as an emergency. Preston sighed, and shivered, and before he could think about it too much he lowered himself into the hole and grabbed onto the ladder. The metal was deathly cold. He took the canvas sheet and pulled it half-way over the opening, making it a bit less noticeable but still letting enough light in to see by. Then climbed down the ladder, holding on tightly, and before he knew it he was standing at the bottom.

The tunnel was dark; _pitch_ black. It was also low, and he had to stoop down to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. The only light was coming down through the trapdoor, illuminating a couple of metres in either direction. The tunnel probably hadn't been used in years. Decades. _Anything could be down here._

_Oh, don't be stupid. There's probably nothing down here except dust and spiders._

_What's that? You hate spiders? How nice of you to remind me, brain._

But despite everything, he felt a kind of thrill. Not the petrified heart-attack thrill he'd felt during the train crash – but the tiny little thrill of doing something adventurous for once. He took a few experimental steps forward, and nothing jumped out at him from the darkness.

So Preston started walking. The only sound was his footsteps, echoing along the passageway, and a faint buzz of conversation from up above. And as his eyes adjusted to the gloom it seemed that there _was_ a bit of light – a faint glow in the distance that provided something to aim for.

_It would've been really great if you brought a torch, huh. Always forgetting the simple stuff._

_…Better hurry up. Deputy Lamb and Mr. Dainard are probably half-way to escaping right now._

"Augh!" He jumped as a stringy spiderweb draped itself across his face. Preston ducked down and brushed it off furiously, swearing in a very un-Preston-like way. "Crap." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and kept walking, shaking a little. Dust. Footsteps. The blackness all around was almost suffocating, but he did his best to ignore it and focus on the light in the distance, keeping one hand on the wall to his left. It wasn't actually so bad down in the tunnel - dark, sure, but at least it was quiet. And cobwebs were fine (as long as there were no spiders attached).

He kept breathing. Kept walking. It _was _still a little scary. Then, suddenly, his hand left the wall and suddenly he was touching only emptiness. He realised that he must be at some kind of intersection – four tunnels, all crossing each other. Shadows all around.

_Click_.

He froze. A sound, from… somewhere.

_Click._

He whirled around and held his breath, listening. Four tunnels. All dark. He couldn't tell which one. But going straight seemed like the best option regardless. Preston forced himself to keep moving swiftly, tried to ignore the fact that his heart was having a rock concert in his chest. _There's nothing else down here. No monsters, no aliens. Nothing but spiders. And you. _He could hear people talking from the main floor of the hangar above and tried to figure out where he was; surely he was almost at the edge of the building by now.

_Click._

He jumped again. The back of his neck prickled. The sound seemed closer, whatever it was, and he cursed his own stupidity. _You should've gone with them, Joe and the others. You shouldn't have panicked. Maybe THEN you'd be sitting all comfortable in someone's car instead of crawling through a really lame tunnel. _

_Or maybe, if you didn't have such an annoying sense of duty, you could be lying in bed reading about aliens instead of sneaking out to hunt one._

_Or maybe you should just stop talking to yourself! _

"Any word from Nelec?"

A voice, directly above him. Preston looked up cautiously and saw a thin shaft a few metres above, with a vent at the top. That was the source of the light he'd seen – and a brown leathery solder's boot was standing right on top of it.

"Not yet. They can't contact anyone from the Dustoff group."

"You think something happened to them?"

"Nah. There shouldn't be any danger outside the perimeter, it's only the town we have to worry about. That's where it's chosen to keep its territory..."

The soldiers moved off. Preston let out the breath he'd been holding. He kept walking forwards one foot at a time, until, suddenly, the noise faded and he was pushing through another long pitch-black section, listening intently, filled with dust and cracked concrete and the echoes of his own rasping breathing, until—

"Ow!" His knee slammed straight into something hard and metallic. After he got over the shock, Preston reached out with his hand and felt a… ladder?

It was a ladder, standing in the middle of the hallway. _Mint. Mint mint mint. _Preston felt around a bit more and found the rungs; started climbing as fast as he could. His knee throbbed. Out of the hallway, into the thin access shaft, until he reached the trapdoor at the top. He pushed up against it with his shoulder, panicked briefly when it wouldn't move and then realised there was a latch holding it in place. "Oh." He quickly unlocked it and stuck his head through, peering around.

At least he could see again, thank god. Apparently he'd come out somewhere in the middle of the airfield – in a wide-open area dotted with buildings and dead grass, nothing but stars overhead. He shivered again, shaking the last dregs of cobwebs and shadows from his mind; when he looked back down into the shaft, he half-expected to see a monstrous face staring up at him, ready to drag him back into the gloom. _Where are they, where are they…_

_There_. In a nice piece of luck, the Deputy and Mr. Dainard were barely fifty metres distant, walking towards a line of parked jeeps over by the edge of the base. Preston glanced behind him at the hangar. It loomed large, light pouring from its windows but there didn't appear to be any guards outside, so he pulled himself from the shaft and started creeping towards the line of vehicles.

Closer, closer. He kept quiet, trying to stay out of the light, holding his breath in a fishy sort of way. Pale skin. Eyes wide. At least out here it was nice and warm, surrounded by the summer air. He crept speedily over the grass, staying as low as he could, praying that they wouldn't turn around.

They didn't. But now Jack and Louis had reached the jeeps. Somehow Jack had found a key and he bundled Louis into the passenger's seat, lowering him carefully on unsteady legs. Ten seconds later, Preston came to the rearmost jeep and crouched down quickly. He heard Jack's footsteps as he walked around the front, heard him open the driver's side door.

Suddenly Preston realised that he hadn't thought this far ahead. He couldn't simply reveal himself, because then the Deputy would just go and dump him back in the hangar. And he couldn't steal his own jeep because a) he didn't have a key and b) he had no idea how to drive one.

So, thinking quick, Preston did the only thing he could. He waited until Jack had started the jeep's engine, hoping that it would mask the sound; then he ran forwards and unzipped the canvas back-flap, fingers fumbling, and somehow managed to scramble up and roll himself into the boot without anyone noticing.

He lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe, acutely aware of the rumble of the engine and the toolbox digging into his back and the two adults sitting just a few feet away. At least the jeep wasn't moving yet. He reached around and zipped up the flap again, inch-by-inch, wondering how the hell his brain had let him get into this situation. Usually it flashed a big fat '_Nope!_' flag at the first sign of danger - and this seemed pretty dangerous.

"How're you doing?" Jack asked loudly.

Preston barely managed to suppress a girlish squeal.

"Fine. Fine," Louis replied. He sounded scared. "Leg still hurts."

"Well, I'm glad for you, because I've definitely been better. You ready?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's go." Jack put the jeep into gear, then pulled out of the parking lot with tires squealing. Preston was jolted forwards, slamming painfully into the seats as they bounced over the asphalt. He bit his lip and stayed quiet. Something was digging into his stomach and he looked down and saw—

Lying right there was a video camera. It looked almost exactly like Charles'. The wide black lens was staring right at him, and there was even some film inside.

Preston picked it up and clutched it to his chest to stop it bouncing around in the darkness. He didn't really believe in God, but sometimes… well, maybe it was destiny. _Maybe helping your friends is the right thing to do._

Or maybe they were all going to be dead in an hour and the universe just had a weird sense of humour. That seemed _far_ more likely.


	19. The Scared Little Boys

_Author's Note: TANKS! EXPLOSIONS! CHARLES IS THIRSTY AND HE'S IN A WARZONE!_

_Nothing else to add really. I just finished exams so I've got some spare time, I'll try and update a bit more regularly for the next month or so. Enjoy the chapter!_

_EDIT: So I read through this again and noticed that I've been using American and British words interchangeably – like feet/metres, torch/flashlight, footpath/sidewalk etc. I probably should use American terms since this is an American story, but sometimes I just feel stubborn and insist on being all Australian. Hopefully it hasn't been distracting anyone :-)_

* * *

><p><span>The Scared Little Boys<span>

For the second time that night, Donny's Pontiac Catalina drove through the hilly back streets of Lillian. The road was dark and wet with rain, reflecting the car's headlights – the only movement in this deserted part of town.

Inside, Joe gripped the wheel tightly, watching the road. Charles stared out the window. Donny sat between them, apparently asleep, head lolling from side to side while Martin and Cary talked in the back. A couple of distant thuds echoed through the night.

"Guys, what was that?" Cary asked.

"It sounds like gunshots," Martin replied.

The car bounced over a drain as more thuds reached their ears. Charles turned to him. "Joe, where are we going?"

"I saw something in the cemetery," he answered, staring straight ahead. "Woodward said it was subterranean. I think I know where it is—"

Then Cary jumped up and pointed at the _M41 Bulldog tank _that had suddenly appeared on the crest of the hill in front of them. "What the hell is that?! MOVE THE DAMN CAR!—"

_BOOM!_ A concussive gunblast, deafeningly loud. Flames erupted from the tank. There were some soldiers running towards them too and Joe wrenched the wheel sideways, the car screeching left into another street with the boys all leaning over and screaming in unison. "AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" But there was another tank at the top of this hill too, wreathed in smoke, and a second one behind it, and – _BOOM!_ – another huge blast as it fired over the car at some unseen target. They kept screaming, covering their ears while Joe turned again, slammed on the brakes, jolted to a stop in the nearest driveway. The tanks rumbled towards them, huge in the darkness.

"GOD!"

"Joe, turn the car around!" Martin screamed.

"I can't there's a tank behind us!"

"Holy SHIT!" Charles yelled. They looked around in panic at the billowing smoke and the armoured tanks rolling down the street right behind them. "What are they shooting at?"

"Guys, we have to run!" Joe turned to Donny and shook his shoulders. "Donny! Hey Donny, wake up! We have to get out of here!" But the guy didn't even move – just lay there, eyes closed, flopped back in his seat. "He's too stoned!" Cary shouted.

Martin quivered. "Drugs are _so_ bad!"

_Pew-pew-pew! Pew-pew-pew!_ Bursts of tracer fire zipped past overhead. At the far end of the street a rocket arced into the air, trailing sparks. They piled out of the car as fast as they could while the two tanks passed by barely metres away. "We gotta go by foot!" Joe said.

"Where?"

"Just – just follow me!"

"GO!"

_BOOM! _Another tank fired. Smoke erupted from the barrel and a second later someone's lawn was consumed in bright yellow fire. The shockwave nearly knocked the breath from their lungs. The four boys sprinted uphill, away from the army vehicles, dodging toppled electrical poles and crushed fences and pieces of burning debris.

"Why is everyone _firing_?" Cary asked.

"Guys come on, hurry!" Joe skidded around the side of a white weatherboard house, zig-zagging across the grass. _BOOM! _A curling fireball was reflected in the windows, turning the world red and orange. Charles leapt over a smashed suitcase. There was a thin dirt path here that cut between two rows of houses, one that they always used on their bikes – it led downhill towards the centre of town, past empty backyards and dark green trees. Joe and the others ran onto the path, arms pumping, almost tripping over their own feet.

"This is CRAZY!" Martin screamed. "What is going ON!?" Gunfire echoed from the hills all around. A rocket was whirling through the air on the right and it _speared_ down into the next street over, sending showers of sparks into the night. "Look! It just exploded! That could've been US!"

* * *

><p>Somewhere on the other side of town, US Air Force Captain Scott Rhodes was shouting into a radio. "Sir! The weapons are misfiring! All of 'em!" His eyes were wide and his voice was full of panic. A rocket arced through the air behind him trailing yellow embers, while squads of air force men ran past. "Surface to air, radar – it's a mess out here, sir!"<p>

He looked around, following the chaos. Another squad sprinted towards the firefight. And then—

_whooshhhhhhhhBLAM! _Another rocket slammed into the grass twenty metres away, almost taking out a house. Rhodes flinched and whirled around as fire bloomed in the sky, so bright and hot it was like a second sun.

* * *

><p>"Guys! Guys, RUUUNNN!" Cary yelled.<p>

They ran. Joe led the way as they turned off the path, squeezing between two houses and cutting across an empty back yard. They dashed across the grass, parallel to the road, past paddle-pools and garden chairs and carports; slid down a ditch and into the next yard along. Four boys racing through a neighbourhood under siege. _Crack-crack-crack! Crack-crack! _The gunfire sounded close now, sharp and loud.

"Come on!"

"What the hell _IS_ this?"

They burst through someone's washing line, sending clothes and bedsheets flying, down another dip and into the next yard. _Crack! Crack-crack-crack!_ All of a sudden there was a low fence in front of them and they jumped over it at full pelt – arms flailing, jackets flying our behind them. _"_Go Cary, go!" Charles rolled when he hit the ground and the others stumbled forwards, quickly pushed themselves up and kept running. "Augh! Jesus!"

"Go!"

The house behind them was on fire, flames licking from the windows and from holes in the roof. Tracer fire streaked across the stars. Joe spotted a gate in the next fence and ran up to it, pushed it open. _THUD!_

Then he stopped. And the others stopped behind him, all staring in amazement at the sight of a tank _sliding on its side_ down the middle of the road, metal screeching like it had been hit by a giant—

"What the hell?"

_WOooooOOOOOooo! _An earsplitting alien roar. The tank tipped over onto its turret, upside-down, and shockingly the turret FIRED and the tank jolted back and there was the sound of breaking cinderblocks as the shell smashed through a wall.

"Holy shit!" Cary screamed, whirling around – but the alien was nowhere to be seen amidst the bushes and clouds of smoke. Joe forced himself to look away just as a helicopter swept by overhead, searchlight blinking, and the boys ran off across the road. Hedges blurred by on either side and they darted into the next alleyway, the back route that led behind Deputy Rosko's house. The helicopter's searchlight blinked again. Joe felt his legs beginning to ache. _Crack-crack-crack! _He heard the creature again, more distant this time, but the sound still made his stomach shiver. He tried to figure out where they were going, whether they should just try and run to safety or cut across town towards the cemetery—

—until suddenly they emerged into Ramsit Park. It was a big grassy square surrounded by houses on all sides, with a basketball court and a half-a-dozen bits of playground equipment in the middle; filled with kids after school every day, and usually a happy, quiet place.

But now soldiers jogged across the rain-slicked pavement, rifles at the ready. Jeeps and APCs swerved along the streets. Half the houses had fires flickering on their rooves, enveloped in ashen blankets. Torrents of gunfire, orange tracers. A rocket spiralled across town like a shooting star before diving and almost hitting a truck. Men ducked for cover. Every military vehicle had its gun shooting in sharp irregular bursts, flashing and sending bullets up and down the streets.

It was insane. Unbelievable. But it was happening, and it was real, and the four boys sprinted out of the alleyway and into the absolute chaos. Joe decided to aim for the nearest house, so they crossed the road and started racing across the park, slipping through the fence, around the basketball court, while machine-guns fired and another rocket exploded in the distance.

"Why is everyone firing!" Cary yelled.

"I don't know!" Charles retorted breathlessly. "Stop _asking!"_

One of the APCs was shooting as it drove, bullets sparking off an overturned car. Something else exploded right behind them, scorchingly bright, so close that Martin could feel the heat on his neck as he brought up the rear. Joe ducked around a slide and some monkey-bars and through the second gate, running uphill towards the next row of houses – the closest one was a two-storey grey brick building, maybe something they could take cover in, catch their breath—

_BOOM! Rat-tat-tat. BOOM!_

"Go, come on! Move ahead!" More explosions, a bit more distant – shattered bricks scattering across the grass. Then another big hit ahead of them. Charles looked behind him at the roaring fires, almost stumbled on the hillside. "Go, everybody, keep going!"

"AAH! Oh my god!" Martin turned and saw a tank driving across the park after them. It rolled straight through the outer fence, crushing it under its treads, then through the playground as well, knocking the slide right over. Metal crunched beneath its 20-ton weight.

_BANG!_

And then Joe reached the house. He leapt up onto the driveway, past a pair of smiling garden gnomes, saw that the carport door was open and ran straight inside with the others following close behind.

* * *

><p>"Come on guys, move."<p>

They pounded up the steps to the second floor, breathing hard, crowding in the narrow stairwell. Most of the lights in the house were out except for one tipped-over lamp that cast harsh shadows on their faces. "Did you guys see those explosions?" Cary asked excitedly. "They were – they were huge!"

At the top of the stairs was a kitchen: pale blue cupboards, flowery curtains, a half-prepared dinner still sitting on the sink. It was an amazing relief to be safe inside. Joe ran to the window and peered out while Charles took a breather, leaning back on the bench; the others looked around the strange dark room, lights flickering. Every couple of seconds there was the _crash_ of a distant detonation. Joe flinched back from the window when the house shuddered, bathed in bright white firelight.

"Oh my god."

"Whose house is this?" Martin asked.

"It's Kathy's," Cary said tersely. He handed him a photo. "I got it off the fridge."

"Kathy… yeah, I know her. Kathy's cool."

Another explosion. Cary started going through drawers. Charles spotted a bottle of Coke on the counter; stared at it critically for a moment, then gulped it down. Martin saw him and pointed in disbelief.

"Charles, what are you thinking, dude? That's not yours!"

His friend nearly choked on the bottle. "What!" he shrieked back. "I'm thirsty and I'm a _warzone_!"

Joe stood at the window, thinking, trying to figure out a way through the aforementioned warzone – when abruptly a couple of soldiers' voices echoed out behind them.

_ "Clear! Clear!"_

_ "Come on, move!"_

_ "Let's go, move out!"_

They all froze. The voices sounded close and Martin barely stopped himself from screaming. "Oh my g—..."

"Guys, come one, let's go," Joe announced. He started moving back towards the stairs, into the next room. The others followed.

"Where are we _going_?" Cary asked for what felt like the fifth time.

"To the cemetery. I'm—"

_CRAAASH!_ An_ incredible_ concussion. The wall _BLEW _inwards in a cloud of and splintered plaster – Joe felt himself get lifted into the air thump down onto the ground, thrown sideways by the shockwave – the world spinning – and suddenly he was coughing and everything hurt and there was dust everywhere, smoke everywhere and his brain couldn't even think. He lay there, struggling to breathe, ears ringing with the impact. Debris rained down over their heads. But then he heard someone yelling and he forced himself to look up, shook his head—

"Guys, what happened to my leg?! Man, it hurts!" Martin was sitting up against a ripped-apart couch, screaming blinking back tears behind his thick lenses. His leg was stretched out in front of him. It ran with blood. Joe shook his head again and stood up, staring at the dust and the darkness. "ARRGH! My _leg!_"

Charles crawled over to his fallen friend and bent over him in shock. "Holy _shit_ Martin, you've got a bone sticking out of your leg!"

"There's a HOLE in the HOUSE!" Cary shouted. "GOD!"

There was a hole – a gaping big hole where the front wall used to be, ugly and jagged, and when Joe looked through it he could see more soldiers, and more tanks, and— _BOOM! _The nearest tank fired and the air _snapped_. Martin slapped his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth.

"Joe, gimme that thing off the curtains!" Charles ordered.

Joe saw a curtain tie somehow still hanging on the wall. He ran over and grabbed it, still dizzy, handed it to Charles. _"Hold your fire!" "Move, move!" _Military vehicles drove by on the street outside while Charles knotted the curtain tie into a thick fabric tourniquet. Cary ducked as sparks showered from ripped-open electrical wires.

And as Joe stood in the ruined house – Martin crying in pain, the battle going on outside, the taste of blood and gunpowder in his mouth – he felt a strange kind of clarity. _I have to go. I'm gonna have to leave them behind_. The thought hurt.

But he leant down and said it anyway. "I've gotta go find Alice!" he told Charles. "You guys stay here with Martin!"

His friend stood stood up. No arguments, for once. "…You gonna be okay without me?" Charles asked – staring in that ultra-sincere way of his, face covered in scratches, yellow jacket dirty and torn.

Joe paused. Nodded. "Yeah."

Two best friends.

Suddenly Cary ran up between them. "I'm NOT staying with the girls!" he shouted.

Charles shrieked back, right in his face. "_God, _Cary! Shut! UP!"

Cary jerked towards him. "CALM – _DOWN!"_

"Come on, COME ON!" Joe quickly grabbed Cary's arm and dragged him off before he could punch someone – through the hole in the house, out onto the street.

"It _hurts_ Joe!" Martin moaned. "It hurts!"

But Joe and Cary were already gone, sprinting across the rubble. Charles knelt down and took the curtain tie. "Okay, this is going to hurt really bad, okay?" He reached out and—

"AAUUUGGH!" Martin screamed, writhing in pain.

"_Jesus_, Martin, I haven't _done _it yet!"

* * *

><p>They ran. Through the dust and the ash, past ripped-up street signs and dented cars, towards the center of their semi-demolished town. Bullets flying overhead. Feet pounding on the sidewalk. Wet streets, green grass, rooves burning yellow against the jet-black sky. Squads of soldiers moved in the distance. A helicopter roamed up above.<p>

And they kept running. Not looking back, covering their heads when a rocket sped past and burst into glowing orange fingers. Brilliant heat, choking smoke, breathe rasping in their lungs. Leaving their friends behind. Chaos was everywhere, behind, ahead, filling their hearts with fear, but the two tiny figures kept on running until they were lost in the night.

* * *

><p>They stopped, out of breath, at the graves.<p>

"So what are we doing here?" Cary asked.

"Just, just follow me. Just follow me," Joe replied, panting.

"I've been following you for the last five blocks! What are we doing here?"

They jogged down the cemetery's central path, between finely-manicured lawns and drooping willow trees. And endless field of gravestones stretched into the distance shining silver in the moonlight. Joe remembered sitting here just a few nights ago, amongst the crosses and flowers and his own painful sadness. Remembered seeing… something.

"Come on, through these doors." Joe led the way to the caretaker's shed: a low white building on the edge of the grass, its windows caked with dirt. It had three big sets of doors and he quickly tried opening the first one. "Help me."

"Help you with _what?_"

"We have to get inside."

He turned the handle but it felt like it was locked. Cary stood there for a moment, bewildered, then shook his head and started pushing on the door as well. "Okay, okay. For what?"

"I'll tell you in a second." Joe ran to the second door, tried that one too. Cary helped him, leaning into it, but—

_Click. _Also stuck. They both grunted with effort and irritation and scrambled over to the third set of doors. Joe knew as soon as he touched them that they were locked too – but the doors seemed to move slightly.

"Why is there dirt in these windows?" Cary asked.

"It's here," he muttered in reply.

"What's in here? Joe—"

"Hard on three. One, two, three–"

Joe slammed his shoulder into the door. It rattled on its hinges.

"One, two, three–"

_BAM!_ Cary joined him, bashing down the door together.

"One, two, three–"

_BAM!_

"One, two, three–"

_BAM!_

They threw their weight into the wood, again and again, shoulders aching – _BAM!_ _BAM! BAM! BAM! _– felt something begin to give and splinter. And finally, CRASH! The door kicked open, swinging inwards as the lock tore apart. Joe and Cary staggered forwards with the impact and almost fell inside.

But thank goodness they didn't, because the shed didn't have a floor anymore.

"Whoa," Cary murmured. It looked like the entire _floor_ of the shed had been dug out, and now dropped straight down into a deep, shadowy pit. Dirt piled against the walls and caked over the windows. Ancient tree roots dangled from the edges. They caught their breath and stared in amazement at the huge hole in the earth.

"This… this is scary."

Joe glanced at Cary's bag. "You got any sparklers in there?"

Cary just stared at him. "…Are you kidding me?" He took off his backpack, unzipped it, and dumped about twenty packs of Fourth of July sparklers onto the ground. Joe took one and held it out in front of him; a cigarette lighter magically appeared in Cary's hands, and he lit the sparkler and it flared into life. _SSSSsssss…_

Joe stepped forwards and chucked the sparkler out into the pit. It dropped down, down, bouncing off the rough dirt walls, hissing while it fell into the deep black darkness. The tunnel was straight for a while, then seemed to open up, and the pale yellow light grew smaller and smaller, fading to just a pinprick…

…until eventually it came to a stop on the distant floor of the tunnel.

He couldn't tell how far it was. Forty feet? Fifty? (Too far to jump, anyway, that was for sure.) But burning on the bottom of the newly-dug hole, the sparkler seemed to be illuminating a wide, dark chamber.

They exchanged a glance. Standing there nervously on the edge of the abyss, it looked more like a portal into nightmares.

"Alice is down there," Joe whispered.

* * *

><p>A jeep raced down the highway.<p>

Inside, Jack Lamb was driving fast. Louis sat next him, still vaguely woozy from the painkillers. As he waited, watching the black and endless road, he glanced at the man sitting by him in the dark; the chiselled face, the dark eyes that stared straight ahead into infinity.

He felt like nothing next to that. So Louis looked away again, vulnerable and sad. The air was… awkward, though not angry, and the loud rumble of the jeep's engine filled the silence anyway.

Nevertheless…

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe he was scared. But Louis Dainard realised that fixing _anything_ needed someone to take the first step. And maybe he _could_ fix things – for Alice. For his daughter. Maybe he could try. All he had to do was find the right words.

The right words were hard to find.

"…I came to your house that day…" Louis said eventually, "to tell you that I never meant to hurt _anyone_. I swear to God." His voice was quiet, as sincere as it had ever been. Tears pleaded in his eyes. "I'm _sorry_, Jack. About what happened to your wife."

Jack's mouth twitched, a hard line. He kept staring at the road as Louis turned away.

Finally, after a long, painful moment, he said: "…It was an accident."

Louis' face was in in the corner of his eye. The square jaw, the streak of dried blood still running down his forehead. That face had stood for a lot of pain over the years, and now it was hopefully turned towards him.

"It was an accident," Jack said again. He gave a small nod, of forgiveness and gratitude – and quietly, they both accepted it. Louis for his daughter, and Jack for his son, and because he was tired of fighting, and maybe, deep down, because he knew that Elizabeth… Elizabeth would…

A few short words couldn't overcome years of pain, but it was a start.

The miles passed by. Moonlight shone on the surrounding forest, and on the two figures in the car. It even shone on a third figure, lying silently in the back. Until:

"Wait. There's something up ahead." Jack pointed out the window, where it appeared that something blocking the road. A bus, it looked like, parked diagonally across both lanes – except the lights inside were flickering and it was tipped up _on its side_?

"Oh, no."

"What is it?"

Jack slowed down and brought the jeep to a stop right next to the fallen bus. He leapt out with the engine still running, barked at Louis ("Stay in the car!") but Louis got out and followed him anyway, hobbling along after. It was like something out of a dream – the smoking bus, sitting at an angle with giant rents torn in its side. Shattered glass covering the road with skid-marks a hundred feet long behind it. A trail of broken branches leading into the surrounding forest.

But Jack only had eyes for one thing. He picked his way over to the rear of the wreck, to where a grey canvas bag was lying on the asphalt.

_'Joe L.' _was written on it in sharp black texter.

He knelt down and picked the bag up; turned it over in his hands. He tried not to think of the bus behind him, and of whatever thing had attacked it. Tried not to think of Joe being dragged off, and dropping the bag from his fingers…

"I can't lose both of them," he said quietly.

Then he felt Louis walk up behind him. The man paused, put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not going to," he said. "We're gonna find them."

* * *

><p>Preston watched from the back of the jeep, peering out through the windscreen. He saw Deputy Lamb pick up a bag from the ground, saw Mr. Dainard walk up behind him. He actually felt almost embarrassed at listening in on their conversation earlier… at least it seemed like they'd worked something out.<p>

The _bus_, though. The _bus_. He stared at the wreck with wide eyes, imagination running in overdrive as he tried to figure out what had happened. Something had hit it, perhaps, from the angle it was lying at, or maybe it had tried to dodge something and turned too sharp. The monster had definitely been the cause though: you could tell from all the jagged tears along the side of the bus, and from the deep claw marks than scoured the dirt next to the highway.

Outside, he saw the Deputy look up and point in the rough direction of Lillian. Then the two adults turned and started walking back to the jeep. Preston quickly ducked out of sight, lying down in the back.

A few seconds later, the doors opened. "It should only be a ten minute drive from here," Jack grunted.

"God, I hope so."

Two shapes sat down. The doors shut. Jack took the wheel and after a few revs of the engine, the jeep started moving again. Faster and faster, onwards to the town.

"…Jack?" Louis said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Preston didn't hear a reply. But in the darkness of the jeep, he could almost feel Deputy Lamb's tiny, tired smile.


	20. Beauty

_Author's Note: I guess you could say I have… plans… about modifying the climax of the story. More like vague ideas. But it seems like the original climax of the movie was a little bigger and longer, and isn't even included in the deleted scenes on the DVD – most likely because it contained a lot of unfinished special effects. (There are more details at weirtonislillian dot blogspot dot com, and some deleted shots can be seen in the Super 8 trailers.)_

_Regardless, I've decided to guess what these scenes would be about, and doing that (and adding Preston) required me to fudge around with the timeline a bit. I'm not actually sure if the story will be any _better_ as a result, but at least it should be more…interesting?_

_Also: longest chapter yet. Hooray! (And also one of the most frustrating, but we won't get into that. There's about three different versions of this sitting on my hard drive.) I also added some dialogue back in from the script; I'm not really sure how well I pulled it off, but hopefully the big emotional moments all come through. And with that:_

* * *

><p><span>Beauty<span>

Joe tugged on the rope to make sure it was secure; one end was tied to a ring in the wall, while the other coiled into the pit. Then, slowly, he started climbing down. Cary watched nervously as he disappeared into the darkness. The edge of the hole was shallow, but it soon steepened into a near-vertical drop, until the only things between him and falling were the rope and the soles of his old, worn-out sneakers.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

He gripped the rope tightly, holding it close to his body. Instead of looking down he just looked for spots to put his feet, descending step by step, muscles shivering. He tried to remember anything he could from that one time they'd been rock-climbing on school camp – anything besides 'you must wear the proper safety equipment at all times'. _Keep your feet flat on the surface. Test footholds before you put your weight on them_. His shoes scraped on the rock.

Luckily the walls were rough, covered in ridges and cracks and concentric grooves that gave him little spots to stand on. It almost looked like a natural cave, except… there was something _off_ about it. The way the sides curved around in almost perfect circles. The way the ledges zig-zagged up and down the walls. Joe took short, sharp breaths, just focusing on one foot, then the other foot, peering through the shadows, the rope passing between his hands – until suddenly his shoes touched the hard-packed dirt forty feet below.

He let go of the rope and stretched his arms. It was dark as hell down here, the only light coming from the shed far above.

"I'm done!"

"Okay, I'm coming."

Cary took hold of the rope and started climbing down after him, scampering quickly over the rock like he was born to it. The backpack full of sparklers was still slung across his shoulders. Barely thirty seconds later he was at the bottom too, and Joe held his arms out to catch him as he dropped the last couple of feet.

"It's dark down here," Cary whispered.

Wordlessly, Joe took a sparkler from his pocket. Cary grinned a little and whipped out his lighter and soon the cavern was filled with hissing, flickering light – just enough to see by.

Joe turned around, holding the sparkler like a candle. The cavern was round, oddly-shaped, dug directly from the black earth and rock; the corners curved in and out and were almost organic in appearance. Weird shadows bounced off the walls. Even the slightest movement sent quiet echoes through the heavy, still air.

Importantly, it was empty. And more importantly, it appeared there were three ways to go: three tall passageways tunnelling into the earth.

Suddenly there was a sound in the darkness – the _thwack_ of a stone hitting the ground. They whirled around. "Joe, I – I don't understand—" Cary began.

"Shh!" He listened, trying to figure out where it had come from. Then there was another sound, almost like… a siren? And a low, distant mechanical rumble.

That was enough. "This way," Joe whispered.

They began walking into the tunnels.

* * *

><p>The tunnel was an oval maybe fifteen feet high, with the same irregular shape as it curved back and forth. The walls were covered in shallow grooves that looked like they'd been <em>dug <em>from the soil – not by a machine, but by a set of giant, clawed fingers…

The sparkler was just a pinprick in the darkness.

"Something's freaking me out, Joe," Cary murmured. "I think – I think it's the digging."

"It's from another planet and the _digging_ is what bothers you?"

"Yeah… this thing's been here only a few days. I wonder how it made all this?"

Joe didn't have an answer for him. But while they walked, Joe with the sparkler, Cary right behind him, faces covered in soot and grime – he knew they were close. He could feel it.

He also felt scared. Really scared, with a dull tightness in his chest and legs that were ready to bolt. Joe ran one of his hands along the wall and it felt dry, cold. Dead. The tunnel wound its way past a set of grasping tree roots and Cary turned his head to watch as they passed, as if the roots might suddenly lunge out and grab them. Their footsteps echoed in the gloom.

Then they emerged into a larger chamber, and there was a box lying on the ground before them. A coffin.

They stopped.

It was three coffins, actually. Three long wooden rectangles covered in muck. One had a golden cross embossed on the top. Another had its lid awfully close to falling off, revealing the edge of an ancient white sheet. Beside them, a headstone was stuck in the dirt, spookily lit by the sparkler's feeble glow.

"This is scary too," Cary whispered.

Joe stared at the scene in shock. He stepped a little closer. Cary followed, drawn forwards by horrid fascination.

The coffins just… sat there. So did, presumably, the corpses inside. Then, with a mounting sense of dread, they looked up—

—and saw half-a-dozen more coffins sagging through the roof of the cave. Dark boxes, old skin and bones, barely held in place by a layer of wet dirt. The cemetery was bequeathing its dead.

Before they could do anything else, there was another clatter in the distance – a metallic echo. Joe turned around and listened, thankful for something else to focus on.

"It's coming from over there."

They ran. Towards the noise, sliding down a ridge and around an outcropping while the shaft dug deeper into the earth. As the tunnel kept curving, and the air kept getting colder, the coffins were soon left far behind until there were just shadows all around them. Cary lit another sparkler when the first one died and Joe held it high out in front.

More running. They passed through another cavity, littered with fallen beams and furniture. When they looked up, they saw another hole leading to the distant surface – this one chewed right through the floor of someone's living room, a jagged tear in the floorboards revealing a lamp and a sofa and a TV still switched on.

_"Why are you so surprised?"_ said a man on the television. _"I always wear lipstick on my shirt!" _

The studio audience laughed, though it sounded oddly fake.

There was an intersection at the other side where a new shaft branched off, but Joe kept going straight on instinct. The mechanical rumbling sound seemed to be getting louder in that direction. The tunnels, though, were still the same, rippling and curving like a frozen stone wave. Joe's sparkler ran out and Cary handed him another one, the cigarette lighter going _click!_ in the darkness.

Then he noticed a dim light up ahead, coming from around the next bend. And past it… the passage seemed to open up. Joe put the sparkler out and slowed down to a walk. In the background he could hear a loud electrical buzz,the siren-like sound of machinery powering on and off mixed with a couple of sharp _ZAPS_. They crept forwards cautiously, staying close to the wall as the roof grew taller, until… until they saw something amazing.

A hundred-foot-diameter, forty-foot-high underground space, absolutely huge, dug from the earth like the rest of the tunnels. A carpet of tree roots dangled from the ceiling. More tunnels led off in every direction. But this chamber also held an alien marvel – a massive, bizarre contraption so complex that it was hard for their eyes to take it in, a child's scribble of metal and plastic that filled the entire cave.

It was a mess of mechanical pieces, from microwaves to car engines, TV antennas, support frames, batteries and electrical transformers and countless other devices. Everything was connected by a thick web of wires and cables. Sparks showered from shorted connections; light glowed from makeshift hanging bulbs. Fans clicked and whirred in the shadows. Appliances beeped. It all seemed to lead up to the dirt ceiling, to somewhere up above ground. The thick-with-fumes space had an acidic, battery-kind-of-smell, and it chugged and hummed with a slowly increasing pitch – like the whole thing was warming up and getting ready to finally, actually, work.

The heart of darkness.

Joe and Cary kept creeping forward, unable to keep the amazement from their eyes. They made their way to the edge of the chamber where the sound of the machine filled the air. It was incredible. Cary stepped sideways to get a better look and felt something brush his ear.

He turned. And found himself face-to-face with a man. A man, eyes closed, dead maybe, hanging upside-down from the ceiling, and Cary's eyes widened in horror and he gulped down a breath and felt a scream building in his throat—

Joe clapped his hand over Cary's mouth and dragged him back into the gloom. Cary struggled, still trying to scream, staring at the hanging figure.

"It's Sheriff _Pruitt_!" he hissed, tearing the hand from his mouth.

"I know." The sheriff's face was grotesque in the darkness. But Joe was already gazing around the rest of the chamber, feeling sick. "Cary, look. There are bodies _everywhere_."

They dangled from the ceiling, half-hidden in the haze – a dozen people, maybe more, all hanging upside-down and wrapped in some kind of thin cocoon. Most of them were unmoving and perfectly still, with one or two swaying slightly on the end of their long, silky ropes.

"What is this?" Cary breathed.

"We're under the water tower. Look." Joe pointed at a fat orange pipe that came down from the ceiling; it was surrounded by walkways and ladders and added bits of frame. You could just see the bottom of one of the water storage tanks. Now, though, all of the cables looked more like… spiderwebs.

Joe swallowed, focusing on the bodies. Trying not to panic. He saw one man in blue overalls, arms stuck to his sides; another with skin as pale as death. "She's gotta be here," he told himself. "She's gotta be here."

_ She has to._

Then, through the mass of machinery, there was a noise – an echoing _clang _– and a brown-grey blur dropped into view on the far side of the chamber. Joe twitched. Cary gasped.

The creature emitted a low, alien growl.

Joe and Cary watched, terrified, huddled behind an outcropping while the huge monster lumbered across the cave. It stopped in front of something and hunched over, its back to the boys; still hard to see its full shape. But its leathery legs were splayed wide across the ground and it was moving a little, almost like it was… chewing.

_Slop. Crunch-crunch. Slop._

While they watched, the creature turned. In one hand it was holding a bloody human leg.

"It's eating a _person_!" Cary hissed.

_Crunch crunch. Slop. _

They probably would've screamed if they didn't need to stay quiet. It was one thing to imagine in your head at night, and another completely to actually see it – to see half of someone's _body_ clutched in its arms. To hear to crunch of bone beneath alien teeth.

Suddenly, the creature growled again. It stopped eating and reared up for a moment, as if it was listening.

Then it galloped away into the nearest tunnel, metal rattling in its path. The thump of its footsteps gradually faded into the distance. Joe followed the creature with his eyes and saw—

_Alice._ Hanging by her feet amongst the other bodies and cables. Arms limp, eyes closed. Her distinctive blonde fell in a wave around her ears.

"She's here!" Joe whispered. His heart leapt.

"Oh my god, I see her."

Instantly, all that resolve came rushing back. Just seeing her, knowing that she was here, so close – it made everything worth it. The bus, the town, the tunnels. Everything. He stared, making sure that she wouldn't disappear again. _All we need to do is save her. _At least the creature was gone, for the moment…

Then Joe had an idea. "Okay. We're gonna use your firecrackers," he murmured.

"I don't – I don't think that's gonna hurt him, Joe," Cary whispered back.

"There's other tunnels."

"So?"

"So I need you to make noise – right here, in two minutes. Make it loud, and make it _last._ Gimme some sparklers."

Cary looked like he was about to lose it. Still, he took off his bag and pulled out a whole box of them. "…Why? What're you gonna do?"

"Just make sure you're gone when it blows. You _can't_ be here," Joe said firmly. "You gotta run." He grabbed the sparklers, leapt up and started jogging back down the passage. Cary kept staring at the cave for a second before he noticed his friend was leaving.

"Where are you _going_?" he hissed.

But Joe was already gone, his blue jacket disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

><p>Joe ran along the tunnel, past the grooved, shadowy walls. A single sparkler lit the way ahead. Electric whirrs from the alien device echoed all around him. He was looking for a way back into the creature's massive cave but the tunnels all looked the same: identical arteries, winding through the earth. He thought this passage was winding in the right direction though and the machine seemed to be getting louder, increasing in pitch.<p>

Then, finally, he emerged into another intersection – three big shafts meeting in a Y-shape. He stopped, held the sparkler high… and quickly turned down the right-hand path, hoping it was the right one. _We're coming, Alice. I promise._

* * *

><p>Cary pulled a bundle of firecrackers from his bag and arranged them on the ground before him. Then another firecracker, and some cherry bombs, and some party poppers, and some M-80s, until he had an amazing array of possibly-illegal explosives laid out on the dirt. Metres of fuses were tangled round his feet and he unwrapped them fast as he could, hands fumbling as he chucked everything into an insane line of gunpowder. <em>Chain reaction, that's what I need. Need to get a chain reaction. Make it loud and make it LAST—<em>

There was a loud clanging noise from the cavern, the sound of cables bending and Cary instantly felt dread in his heart. The monster was back. It was carrying something else this time, a boat engine or something and it started fixing it to another part of its machine. The creature was _huge; _it had to be twenty feet tall. He couldn't even tell how many arms it had. That was bad.

He shrank away, making sure he was out of its view. Cary had never been more afraid in his life.

But he kept working. Because Alice needed him, hanging in the stillness bare metres from the monster. And Joe needed him too.

…Joe, who'd just arrived on the other end of the cave. The sparkler died just as he rounded the last bend and reached the opening of the tunnel. He crept forwards.

And he stopped in his tracks when he realised the creature had returned. He could see its legs through a gap in the machinery, could see its arms doing something to the metal. Alice's lifeless body was suspended in the air next to it.

The creature walked off, out of view. Joe crouched down with bated breath. _Come on, Cary. Come on._

* * *

><p>Wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Cary kicked the last charge into place and took out his silver lighter. He clutched it to his chest, spun the wheel. <em>Click.<em>

No spark.

He tried again. _Click. Click._

* * *

><p>From the opposite side of the chamber, Joe watched his friend struggle with the lighter. He heard the alien growl somewhere and looked around worriedly – Cary was clearly visible in the tunnel, half-standing and ready to run.<p>

"Come on Cary," he whispered. "Come on, come on, come on—"

* * *

><p><em>Click click. Click. Click. Click. <em>He kept trying, frantically, desperately but the damn thing just wouldn't _light!_ _Click!_

"Dammit!" Cary shook the lighter up and down, ready to cry at the injustice of it all. _Click—_

* * *

><p>The alien finished whatever it was doing and made its way back to the hanging bodies. Back to Alice. Joe watched as the creature stopped before of its prey. It regarded them for a moment with hard, insect-like eyes.<p>

Then it took Alice in one gigantic hand.

His heart nearly stopped. The creature pulled her down from the ceiling, almost delicately, and started moving her, moving her to the spot where it had been eating the other body and all Joe could do was watch, crouched there in the mouth of the tunnel.

* * *

><p><em>Click. Click! <em>Cary tried the lighter again and again, again and again and one last time—

_Click-fftth!_

Somehow, finally, it lit – a single, tiny flame. Cary cupped the lighter in his hands and stared into the fire, face bathed in its dancing yellow glow.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Then he snatched up the fuse and lit it and picked up his backpack and _bolted_. Sparks raced along the fuse while Cary sprinted away. They came closer and closer to the ragged circle of firecrackers, hissing against the dirt, and just when Cary disappeared round the corner…

…they touched.

_BANG! _The air seemed to scream as a dozen explosives went off in unison, white-hot flames erupting in the dark and showering the dirt with fire. The tunnel was filled with multi-coloured light and sharp _cracks! _almost painfully loud.

The creature instantly jerked towards the sound. It called out hoarsely, half-curious, half-angry – then it laid Alice gently down on the ground and started galloping towards the disturbance. The ground shook. It gave another roar when it reached the tunnel, this one almost uncertain. Joe could still hear the firecrackers going off, flashing in the darkness. _BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG! _The creature leapt past the crackling explosives and into the smoke-filled passageway, waiting for a moment, looking for the source of the intrusion.

Then it charged off into the gloom. One last, echoing roar… and it was gone.

Hopefully Cary was long gone too.

No time to worry about that though. Joe burst out of cover, dodged past a couple of truck tires and engine parts, sprinted over to where Alice lay in the dirt. He knelt down next to her and grabbed her shoulders.

"Alice. Alice. Please, we have to go. Come on."

She didn't move – just lay there limply, eyes closed. Joe shook her again, whispering as loud as he dared. "Alice! _Alice!_ Please, wake up." Still no movement. He glanced nervously at the tunnels, expecting the monster to return any second. "Alice, wehavetogo _come on—"_

She had to be unconscious. Joe refused to imagine anything worse. He raised his hand uncertainly, looking at her pale, cold face; paused for a second, then slapped her HARD. _Whack!_

And Alice took a sharp breath.

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Louis asked. "What the hell <em>happened<em> here?"

Jack didn't reply. He gazed out the window at the craters in the street, the houses on fire, the ash filling the sky and didn't have an answer. They drove past a bullet-scarred armoured personnel carrier, so big he had to swerve around it. One of the shops across the street had its roof torn off, the rest of it half in flames. It looked like a warzone or something, like there had been a battle. _But a battle with what?_

Their destination appeared at the bottom of the hill and Jack carefully steered the jeep towards it. The Lillian Middle School appeared relatively unharmed (apart from some burnt grass and a couple of broken windows) – but the parking lot out front was _packed_ with military vehicles. Soldiers swarmed around trucks and APCs, even a tank. A few men were injured and being treated under a first-aid tent. Jack brought the jeep to a stop across from the school entrance and Louis peered up at the military outpost, half curious, half afraid.

"What are we doing here?"

"Rosko said that Joe and the boys were picked up near the school," Jack muttered. "And I'm gonna guess they were here lookin' for your daughter. One of their friends – Preston, don't know if you know him—"

Hidden in the back, Preston almost jumped.

"—showed me… well, you wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"I think I would, Jack," Louis replied faintly. "I saw it. When it took my daughter."

Jack grimaced. "…Yeah. Well. Preston mentioned one of the teachers at the school, Woodward, his name is. Said he had something to do with it. That's probably why they came here."

Jack glanced at the school again; it didn't seem like the safest place for two civilian fugitives (or a bunch of kids). He leaned over and opened the jeep's glove compartment, pulled out the 9mm pistol inside. Checked the ammo quickly.

"You want this?"

Louis shook his head. "You're better with it."

"Okay, then let's go. I'm done sneaking around."

They got out of the jeep, and started walking towards the school gates.

* * *

><p>Preston heard the doors shut; saw the Deputy and Mr Dainard walk away. After a brief moment of deliberation – which involved about twenty different conflicting feelings flying around his head at once, most of them scary and bad – he decided that this was as good a time as any to start being a hero.<p>

Just thinking about the word made him laugh. Regardless, he took a deep breath and picked up the video camera, then untied the jeep's canvas flap and stealthily jumped out onto the grass.

Immediately he was assaulted by the thick smell of burning. Ash floated in the air, mixing with the orange glow on the horizon. Distant gunshots echoed across the hills. Preston flinched, glanced around the side of the jeep and saw the two adults walking through the gates of the school. He waited until they were almost out of sight – then half-crouched, half-ran up to a pillar in the fence and pressed himself up against it.

Preston looked down at the camera in his hands. It looked pretty simple. Just a different version of Charles', really. He checked the filters and the lenses and focused it on the ground in front of him.

Then he pulled the trigger, and started filming.

* * *

><p>As soon as Jack and Louis walked through the gates they were stopped by a flustered-looking army captain. He ran out from under the nearest tent, waving his arms at Louis.<p>

"Hey! Stop! No civilians!"

"He's with me!" Jack yelled back.

"Doesn't matter! You can't be here, this area's off-limits!" The soldier stopped in front of them just as another damaged truck drove past. He looked almost shellshocked; his uniform was blackened and dirty and his pale skin was covered in sweat. A semi-auto rifle hung across his back. Jack decided to make the first move. "Name and rank, soldier?"

"Captain Scott Rhodes." The captain frowned. "What's yours?"

"Staff Sergeant… Jimmy Wallace." He glanced down at his shirt to make sure he'd got it right.

"Well, Staff Sergeant, as I'm sure you can see we've just been through hell around here. Every weapon in the division just misfired at the same time. Never seen anything like it. We've got soldiers injured, most of our ammo gone, it's a big god-damned mess."

"I'm… sorry to hear that. Listen, I've got orders from Colonel Nelec—"

"Nelec's dead."

"What?"

"He's dead," Rhodes said matter-of-factly. "The bus they were using had contact with the cargo about an hour ago. Haven't heard from that whole squad since. They're either dead, or they can't talk for some reason. And since I can't confirm _your_ orders with Nelec, my orders still stand. No civilians in the school. We're doing cleanup."

"Okay." Jack took a deep breath, and tried not to think of Joe. _'They're either dead, or they can't talk for some reason.' '…dead…' _He sensed Louis standing silently behind him; heard a soldier scream from the medical tent. "I can see things have been bad around here. But I need to get into the school."

"You can come through." The captain nodded at Louis. "_He_ can't."

"He stays with me."

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't let you in."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"I can't say. It's a contamination issue."

"Contamination? But—"

"Orders, Staff Sergeant."

"To _hell_ with your orders!" Jack felt a flash of anger. Suddenly his hand was touching the pistol on his belt and before he knew it he had the safety off and—

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" Rhodes shouted. He was holding his rifle, still pointed at the ground but ready to aim and shoot at any moment.

Jack froze, the pistol half-way in the air.

"I don't know what you're doing, Staff Sergeant, but I think you should reconsider."

"I'm… looking for someone," Jack murmured.

Captain Rhodes cocked his head. Jack felt his heart pounding in his chest. He wondered what would happen if their guns crept up another inch; a few hours on the police range was probably no match for military training. _I… we came all this way. We're so close. We can't give up now. _Luckily, the other soldiers were too busy to notice the confrontation.

* * *

><p>Preston wasn't, though. He stared wide-eyed at the two men facing off in the middle of the parking lot. Jack and the army captain both had their guns half-drawn. They were talking about something, a mixture of anger and confusion. He imagined hearing a sudden <em>bang<em> and seeing one of them collapse with blood.

The camera was still whirring in his hands, taking in the soldiers and the tanks and the sky full of stars. It was like something out of a movie. Except this was real... and that was Joe's _dad_ out there. Preston wondered if he should help. If he even _could_.

Then he saw Mr Dainard step forwards.

* * *

><p>The two men stood at the entrance of Lillian Middle School.<p>

"Don't move!" Rhodes barked suddenly.

"I'm not," Jack growled. _But I'm thinking about it._

"Not you. Him."

Suddenly, Jack felt a hand on his shoulder. There was a quiet strength in his touch.

"You're no good to them dead, Jack," Louis said calmly.

The words cut like a knife through his mind. Jack tensed for a second... then breathed out. "I know." _I know. _Slowly, coolly, he put the gun away. The moment passed. Rhodes watched him carefully for a second; then did the same. A few of the other soldiers were now glancing at them curiously. Louis stepped back.

Frosty silence.

"Who's in command?" Jack asked eventually.

"I am," Rhodes shot back.

"Not here. I mean who's commanding the whole area, now that Nelec's dead." _The bastard._

"That would be Major Abrams. He's camped down on the main street."

"Then I might just go and pay him a visit."

"You do that, Staff Sergeant. As long as you get the hell of here." Rhodes paused. "Who's your friend, by the way? The civilian."

"Can't tell you. Orders." Jack shrugged and exchanged a glance with Louis. Then he sighed, and took one last look at the school. Last time he'd been here it had been filled with laughing, smiling kids. Now it was just… dead. He shook his head and started walking back to the jeep, Louis in tow.

"Staff Sergeant?" Rhodes called out.

Jack stopped. "What?"

"I wouldn't go pulling any guns on the Major, if I was you."

"Well, that depends if he's hurt our kids or not," he said quietly. And with that he turned and left the soldiers behind, surrounded by their ash and dust.

* * *

><p>Preston ducked as another jeep drove past. He was creeping around the parking lot fence, about half-way around it now, aiming for the thin alleyway that ran around the edge of the school. The Deputy and Mr Dainard might not be able to get in, but Preston was pretty sure that he could – no one knew a school better than the kids who went there, after all.<p>

Of course, avoiding the soldiers was another thing entirely. But even if he got caught… they wouldn't hurt a kid, right? They were the army. They were meant to be _protecting _him.

Preston looked down at the camera, and thought he'd better do an introduction. Hopefully the microphone would pick up his voice. He crouched down behind a bush for a moment and turned the lens towards his face. "My name is Preston Mills," he said quickly. "I am and eighth-grade student at Lillian Middle School, which you can see over there" – he pointed the camera over the fence – "and I am about to break in because I'm looking for my friends. They were searching for something inside but I think they might have been captured. It's crazy. Super crazy. And the military is here, and there's fires everywhere, and stuff is happening… Sorry, that was a really bad introduction. I don't know. I'll have to edit that out."

Preston coughed and looked back across the shadowy grass. The Deputy and Mr Dainard were walking away from the school, back to their parked army jeep.

"Crap! Crap!" Preston muttered, shocked. "Sorry, edit that too." But what were they doing? Maybe the soldiers had told them to go somewhere else? At least no one had been shot, but Preston abruptly realised that he had absolutely _no_ chance of getting back to the jeep in time. No chance of not being seen. He thought about jumping up and waving, but…

With a slow, sinking feeling, Preston hid and watched as the two men climbed into the jeep. The doors shut, the engine started.

And the jeep drove off down the street. Twenty seconds later, it disappeared around the nearest corner and Mr Lamb and Mr Dainard were gone. Heading towards the centre of town. Leaving him behind, alone.

Preston stared for a moment. Then he turned back to the school and scanned it, speculating.

Maybe being stuck here was a good thing. Because Preston was terrible at making decisions, and it appeared that a very big one had just been made for him. He turned the camera up to his face once more. "So as I was saying, my name is Preston Mills," he said quietly. "I'm about to break into my school to uncover a thirty-year-old military conspiracy… and then I'm going to find my friends."

* * *

><p>Deep beneath the water tower, Alice's eyes snapped open. She looked up, dazed.<p>

"…where are we?..."

"You're alive! You're alive." Joe could barely believe it. "You're alive!" He almost laughed in relief, smiling so wide it hurt. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Alice sat up, catching her breath. She looked around in confusion and amazement and saw Joe leaning over her – the only familiar thing in the whole cavern. "What is this?" she murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just doing the best I can to save you," he said instantly.

When Alice looked into Joe's dark eyes, she knew he meant it with all his heart. So she grabbed him, and hugged him tight.

They held each other in the middle of the cavern. Joe was kind of shocked at first, but after a moment he just closed his eyes. The whirr of the machine faded away until there was only her warmth, her comfort. The touch of her hair upon his cheek. The past few days, all they'd been through to get here – it didn't matter. All he knew was that she was the same old Alice. Strong, and resolute, and beautiful. And that was enough.

"…How'd you know?" Alice whispered.

"Your dad. He told me. He was worried. And flipping out."

Alice frowned, and stepped back. "Really?"

"Yeah. But – we have to move." Joe suddenly remembered where they were. They stared at each other for another brief, intense moment—

—until a voice said, "Excuse me?"

They whirled around.

And saw a young woman sitting on the dirt a few metres away. She looked like she'd just woken up in more ways than one – muddy dressing gown, curlers in her hair, and utterly, _utterly_ disoriented. She peered at the two of them like she was still in a dream.

"...Where are we?" she asked.

* * *

><p>The woman's name was Tina, and she'd recently turned 24. They found this out (and many other things) because she just wouldn't stop <em>talking<em>. "I left my bag I the car, and then I went out to the car to get my bag, and then when I went out the car I heard a noise, a weird clicking sound, so I looked around however no one was there and so I got my bag from the car, and when I closed the door again I heard…" She was speaking quickly, monotone, just saying words to avoid the reality of being trapped in an alien rabbit warren.

For Joe and Alice, though, survival instinct had kicked in. And Alice's memory of the past twenty-four hours had come flooding back.

"It's been locked up for years – experimented on," she explained earnestly. "It's terrified and exhausted and hungry and it just wants to go home. When it touched me, I _knew_."

Joe nodded, remembering Woodward's tapes. "Yeah. I need you to help me get the Sheriff down." They walked to where Sheriff Pruitt was still hanging from the cavern roof; grabbed his body with their hands, grimaced at the feel of the leathery cocoon. There was a loud, ugly crackling sound as they pulled him forwards—

* * *

><p>The creature growled with pure harsh <em>fury<em> as it stormed through the shadowy tunnels. Its legs pummelled the earth, scattering rock to the wind, eyes searching the pitch black darkness for the trespasser that had invaded its home.

Cary could hear it. Not right behind him, but it was still close. Far too close. He sprinted as fast as he could through the gloom, hyperventilating. Checking over his shoulder after every bend. _Oh my god I'm gonna die it's gonna eat me— _The tunnels twisted and turned, endless, and every time he thought he'd reached the exit it was just another featureless cave. _Where's the rope where's the rope where's the damn ROPE!_

Somewhere behind him, the creature stopped. It hunched down on its six limbs for a second; sniffed the air, and gave a short, barking cough.

Then it turned, and started galloping the other way.

* * *

><p>The sheriff had only just been woken, but twenty years in command was a hard habit to break and he immediately took charge of the situation.<p>

That might have been a bad thing, though. Pruitt raised his police torch and peered around the cave in confusion, tried to summon up a hint of confidence. It was hard. His plump face was dirt-smeared and drawn and wisps of grey hair stuck out in every direction, completely out of place in the alien hive. "Follow me this way! I'll get us out of here," he said hoarsely.

Joe pointed over his shoulder. "Sheriff, we came that way—"

"Don't argue with me! Just _follow_ me."

"Come on kids, let's go with the Sheriff," Tina added.

There wasn't much choice, so they did. Joe, however, didn't feel confident as they picked their way through the maze of alien components. The machine seemed to be powering up even more. Sparks and lights flickered overhead and fans spun faster and faster. The ragtag group of survivors skirted around cables and fuel tanks and entered a small passage on the other side of the cave, accompanied by the constant rising siren sound. _WoooooOOOOOoooOOO!…_

They ran through the tunnel, Sheriff Pruitt in the lead, Tina next, Alice and Joe bringing up the rear. The Sheriff's torch cast a pale circle of light upon the walls, bouncing as they moved, illuminating cracks and ridges and dark black shafts. They reached an intersection with three ways to go; the Sheriff barely paused before announcing, "This way."

"Sheriff, I really think we're going the wrong way—" Joe said hesitantly.

"We'll talk about it when we get up top!"

They'd just started running into the new tunnel when out of nowhere a voice called his name.

"Joe!"

They stopped. And then _Cary_ came skidding around the corner behind them. He ran up full of panic and relief, so fast they nearly collided.

"I thought I told you to get out!" Joe hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought this _was_ the way out!" he retorted. "I tried, okay? I just—" Then he saw Alice standing there, a little surprised. "Hey Alice, welcome back."

"Hey! Kids!" The Sheriff interrupted their little reunion. "Come on, we gotta get out of here—"

_THUMP!_

A massive hand surged out of the darkness and snatched the Sheriff away. He shrieked as it lifted him high like a toy, squeezed hard and instantly he was dead, and there was a roar of triumph mixed their screams of shock and terror and IT was right there – _it – _and the four of them turned and _bolted_. Sprinting through the tunnels in a blur of panic, everyone screaming, the creature leaping from the shadows and charging after them.

"Guys, hurry!" Cary yelled. "Come on, GO!" He looked over his shoulder but couldn't see anything, kept running as fast as he could, around corners, through the tunnels, not caring which way – just away from the beast. Tina was a couple of metres back, then Alice, screaming as well and suddenly there was a huge reverberating howl and the creature was right behind – it lashed out and grabbed Tina with its claws, so close that Alice felt the air _shake_ – and the woman was dragged away into the gloom.

"AAAAAAAHH!"

There was a sickening crunch as she hit the wall. The creature crouched down and _roared _in fury, mouthparts glistening in the faintest hint of starlight. They whirled around and saw it—

_ROOOooooOOOOOO!_

—and raced onwards, skidding around the next cavern. Three kids left, panting and winded and filled with terror, the awful shadow somewhere behind ready to snatch them away any second. "She's gone! It took her! I don't wanna be next!" Cary babbled. The walls blurred past, barely visible in the gloom, but then the tunnel seemed to end, closer and closer and Joe couldn't see a…

He slid to a stop and stared at the blank stone wall in front of him.

Dead end.

No more tunnels, no more options. The others stopped next to him, out of breath. Shocked. Joe thought he should feel disappointed but he was almost too exhausted to think anymore. _Come on… come on, this can't be it. _After a moment they turned around, looking for a way out but ahead there was only horrifying blackness.

So they huddled together in the middle of the cave. Waiting. Staring into the dark. No one said a word and it was curiously silent for a long, endless moment.

Three long black fingers appeared around the edge of the tunnel.

"AAH!" Cary and Alice screamed and backed away, pressing up against the wall. Then a foot appeared, and another foot, and an armoured, muscular body… and there it was.

The alien.

It was so huge, and yet so graceful at the same time. At least fifteen, maybe twenty feet tall, with mottled grey skin that had a wet, rubbery appearance. It had two tree-trunk-thick legs which bent back at the knee, similar to a dog's or cat's, but the way it moved was weird, uncomfortable, almost spidery – four arms sprouted from its shoulders and it used the two upper arms to walk as well, while the others were held in the air, ready to strike. Each limb ended in five long, stilted fingers that were oddly human; its torso was just a mass of muscles and tendons and webbed flaps of skin. Bony ridges and plates covered most of its body. On top of its chest it had a thick, concave neck, and on top of that…

The creature's head. It was almost like someone had cut out and flattened a skull; sort of triangular, smooth, but with recognisable features. There was a pointed chin, a thin mouth, a series of flaring black holes for nostrils. Two eyes, just featureless grey orbs. Two bony flaps that looked like a mixture of ears and horns. Whitish stripes of pigment ran down its 'face'.

The alien growled softly. A low, menacing rattle, like a tiger. It considered them for a moment.

Then started walking towards them.

Echoing footsteps. Joe watched it approach. He was scared. So, so scared. He couldn't even thinkhe was shivering so much, and all he could do was stand and stare and wonder which insane planet something like _it_ would call home. Behind him Alice and Cary shrank back, clutching each other in the darkness as the beast came closer. Closer. Closer. Distantly, Joe realised that he was the only thing standing between the creature and his friends – and that it was _right there_, bare metres away.

Harsh alien eyes. The rattle of its breath.

Joe imagined them dying here, alone beneath the dark, forgotten earth. And he knew he had to stop it. He _had_ to. He swallowed, shivered, swallowed again and—

"GO!" he shouted at it, with as much strength as he could muster. "YOU DON'T WANNA BE HERE, GO!"

"Joe, what are you _doing_?" Cary hissed.

The alien stopped before him. It clicked curiously, as if he was an insect about to be crushed. Then, slowly, it reared up on its hind legs, absolutely _towering_ over him. Its four arms dangled in the air.

Joe stood his ground. Gazed up unflinchingly. Then, suppressing every impulse that was _screaming _at him to run – he took a few steps forward.

Cary flinched, nearly crying. "Ally, what the _hell_ is he doing?"

Alice didn't reply. Just watched fearfully.

But as Joe stood at the alien's feet, he remembered something that she'd said just minutes earlier. _"It's terrified and hungry, and it just wants to go home." _The scientists had tried to trap it and failed. The military had tried to kill it and failed. The creature seemed to be intelligent though and maybe… maybe it could understand. Maybe it _would_ understand. Maybe the entire country had been so busy being scared of it that nobody… nobody had just tried to _talk_. So Joe said the first thing that came into his head.

"We understand!" he shouted desperately. "We know how hard it's been! BUT NOT EVERYONE'S HORRIBLE!"

"Joe, shut up, it's gonna kill you!" Cary whispered.

The alien's eyes glimmered in the shadows. But then… it breathed out, and tilted its head. Like it was listening. Joe kept staring at it, willing himself to go on. "You're gonna be okay n—"

And then it grabbed him. Alice and Cary SCREAMED as one slimy hand reached down and wrapped around his chest.

"NOOOO!"

"JOE!"

The alien squeezed – and _lifted_ him, up, up, far above the ground until he was almost level with its head. Joe went limp in shock, terrified, legs dangling in the air. The creature stepped forwards, leaned down a little…

…and Joe was suddenly about three feet from its face.

He shivered. He took a quick breath, and another, and felt his chest press against the alien's skin. Its grasp was firm, but gentle. His friends were still shouting far below.

"No!"

"Let him down!"

The alien sniffed. A gust of warm air swirled around his face, ruffled his hair. Breath from another world. Up here, up close, you could see the dots and scars that made up its skin; the wet black openings of its nose, the slight upwards turn of its three-part mouth. The smooth dome of its forehead. If he reached out, he'd almost be able to touch it… and suddenly, like Alice, he _knew_. He knew what it had been through, why it had arrived here, who it was running from. Where it wanted to go.

Joe gazed into the creature's glossy black eyes. It could kill him at any moment. But in that fear, he found—

Truth.

Joe looked away into the darkness for a moment, searching for the right words.

Another breath. And finally he whispered, shakily:

"I know bad things happen… Bad things happen."

A breath.

And the creature… turned. It almost seemed to buzz, softly. Below, Alice and Cary watched, tense.

"But you're gonna be okay."

A breath. Joe stared into the alien's eyes.

The alien stared back.

"I know bad things happen…" he whispered.

A breath.

"…but you can still live."

A breath.

"You can still _live._"


	21. The Past

_First: Sorry for taking so long to update! I've been busy._

_Second: __This chapter probably isn't what you're expecting…_

_Third: 14,000 WORDS YOU GUYS._

_Basically, two months ago I had a weird idea, and this is the result of that idea, and now I should probably just be quiet and let you read it. __For an explanation and an actual Author's Note, skip to the end :-)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Past<strong>

Warm, rubbery skin. Black alien eyes. And… the crash of thunder.

Joe blinked. It was like he's been somewhere else for a second – a flash of lightning and a dark house. An old memory. But no, he was still in the cavern, dangling metres above the ground. He didn't move and just let himself hang limply, trusting the creature, pleading for it to understand. It hadn't killed him. Yet. It was just... staring. Alice and Cary were still huddling in the cave below. _You can still live._

Thunder, louder.

The house rattled.

Joe blinked again, confused. The cave reappeared. And suddenly—

A _rush._ A waterfall of thoughts and emotions and indescribably alien sensations, flowing around and into his brain, digging through, swirling like a flood through a forest. Memories, merging, leaping through time. Alien eyes. His skin buzzed. He was still in the cave, but far away at the same time. Distant, far away, and together with _it_—

* * *

><p>The crash of thunder.<p>

It was loud. So loud that it seemed almost _infinite_, rattling the windows, shaking the house to its bones. Joe curled up in his bed and stuck his fingers in his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the storm… but you couldn't. Not when you were eight years old, and still a little afraid of the dark.

Lightning flashed, harsh and bright, silhouetting the wintry skeletons of trees in the garden outside. Joe twitched and started counting. _One, two—_

_ BOOOOM!_

The storm was right overhead; heavy rain drummed on the roof and poured from overflowing gutters. The power was out too. Joe risked a peek over his blankets and couldn't see _anything_ – just pitch black darkness. Logically, he knew that he was still in his room, safe in his bed, and that there weren't any monsters hiding in the gloom. He knew that he was too old for monsters.

But logic always fled once the sun went down. He lay back down again, heart beating fast. _You're not gonna go running to mom and dad like a crybaby. You're not a little kid anymore. You're brave._

Lightning.

_One, t—_

_ BOOOOM!_

Something fell from a shelf in the kitchen and hit the tiles with a sharp _crack_. Joe jumped. He couldn't go to sleep now, not when the night was so dark - so he lay there, staring at the ceiling, clutching the sheets with sweaty fingers. Right at that moment, it seemed like a particularly bad idea to have borrowed that horror movie magazine from Charles.

Lightning.

Rain.

Shadows.

He lay there for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, a slit of yellow light appeared under his bedroom door. Joe turned towards it; heard footsteps creaking on the floorboards outside. The doorhandle started turning—

He quickly rolled over and pretended to be asleep.

The door opened quietly. A shadowy presence picked its way across the carpet and stopped beside his bed, dim torch in hand. Joe could see its faint red glow behind his eyelids.

"You don't have to pretend, Joe," his mother said softly. "It's all right."

When Joe opened his eyes, he saw her standing over him. She looked like an angel in her crumpled nightgown – smiling tiredly, long black hair lying messily around her shoulders. "How long have you been up?"

"Just a little while…" he answered quietly. "Is dad awake?"

"Yes, he's awake. Just like you."

Lightning. Thunder. The sky roiled and rumbled, on and on and _on_, and just when it felt like it would never end – the thunder faded away into the night.

"It's loud, huh?" his mom said, pointing at the ceiling.

Joe nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah."

"It's okay to be scared. Don't worry."

"I wasn't scared."

"Sure you weren't." Elizabeth smiled again as wind howled across the hills. She laid the torch down on his desk, a warm, safe glow; then knelt down on the ground before him, looking straight into his eyes. Her gaze was comforting. "You know what else is loud?" she asked.

Joe shook his head.

"Fireworks!"

"That's… that's _different._"

"No it isn't - not really." His mother turned away for a moment, searching for an old memory. "Thunder… it's caused by the shock the lightning makes in the air. The electricity heats everything up, like an explosion. Like fireworks do. You know Mrs. Easton at school?"

"She was my grade three teacher."

"Oh! She _was_, wasn't she. Well, she taught me that, many years ago."

"She's _really _old."

"Ha. She certainly is." Elizabeth leant in close, and Joe realised that he'd nearly forgotten all about the thunder and the darkness. "And fireworks – they make us happy, don't they? They're bright, and colourful. Red. Yellow. Green. On New Year's Eve, or Fourth of July, when all the family's together, celebrating…"

He nodded.

"So what's so scary about thunder? It's just the same. It's just a sound."

Rain thrummed on the windows as Joe tried to think. His mother watched him, smiling gently. The torch flickered.

"It's not the sound that's scary," he said eventually, almost too soft to hear.

"Hm?"

"It's... it's the lightning."

"Why?"

Joe opened his mouth to say something - but then just shook his head. His mom frowned.

"Hey, you can tell me. I'm sure it's a _very_ good reason. And if it isn't - then you won't have to be scared anymore."

As if on cue, the sky flashed angrily. Bright white streaks tore through the midnight clouds, splitting the storm in half. Joe shivered with anticipation. _One, two, three—_

* * *

><p>CRASH!<p>

The floor of the ship slewed wildly to the left. The inner walls failed for a moment, flickering and dissolving from shining silver into a sea of rough white cubes as the ship's systems tried to deal with the sudden impact. Sharp flares of blue plasma strobed from the ceiling and filled the pilot's chamber with light.

_/Impact read on portside nacelle spaceborne debris impact systems damaged systems recalibrating_

The ship was star-shaped, curved and silver, with five engines flaring blue at the end of long, tapered fingers. From the outside, you would've seen a faint metallic blur unexpectedly _rip_ into its hull – tearing a hole several metres wide, bursting out the other side an instant later at 15,000 kilometres an hour. Silver splinters exploded into space, twinkling in the distant sunlight… twinkling against the blue-green planet that spun far below.

_/The Starfarer is damaged the Starfarer requests direction_

There was only one thing alive on the silvery ship – a huge, dark grey figure that lay in the central chamber. White and purple tendrils of light connected its body to the cavernous walls. They were faint, nearly insubstantial, and flickers of energy ran up and down them furiously fast.

_/The Starfarer must reconfigure. The Starfarer must repair. Quickly quickly the atmosphere is close (background) disappointment this race does not keep their spacelanes clear of debris they must be primitives stupid primitives_

The pilot had a name, of sorts. It wasn't a human name; you couldn't really translate it without connecting to a thousand years of alien knowledge and ancestry and emotion.

But, roughly, it sounded a bit like 'Cooper.'

_CRASH!_ Another piece of debris speared into the ship's midsection, jolting it violently sideways. (Years later, someone would eventually figure out that it had been the remnants of an old Russian satellite.) One of the engine spires was torn clean off and fell away, melting into a cloud of white cubes. Air and fire screamed from the opening. The ship rolled again. Hard black eyes flicked open for a second, briefly panicked.

_/Why did sensors not warn of impact (question) damaged must be damaged_

_/_Relief disappointment fear. _Pilgrimage; t__he pilgrimage will be unfulfilled. Surface approaches fast (immediate) too fast uncontrolled_

The ship suddenly entered the planet's outer atmosphere. This was dangerous; pieces of its hull were still whizzing around outside, trying to rearrange themselves, close the holes, repair vital systems. It wasn't happening in time. The two impacts had been too big, too fast and the ship was speeding up as it was drawn into the planet's gravity well. Re-entry fire began to bloom around its nose.

_/The pilgrimage will be unfulfilled (thoughts) (course of action) (important) the Homesphere must be notified. Must must must try and control descent_

_/Notify first_

The alien leapt up from his position in the pilot's chamber and lumbered across to a spinning circular ring on the far wall. The ship shuddered wildly. Soundless alarms screamed from every corner. He reached for the ring and light glowed around his fingers and the ring span, faster and faster and even faster and Cooper pulled every bit of data he could from the ship's remaining sensors and compressed it into a tiny, hardened package. Then he sealed the package with his memories and sent it flying across the stars.

The Homesphere was very far away. But the package would get there, in time.

_/Notify done (very important) now must control descent_

The ship was flying incredibly fast. Parts of it were beginning to crack and splinter off, its silvery exterior becoming warped and damaged and grey. Shields were struggling to hold together and the engines were unresponsive. The surface of the planet was bare kilometres away. Cooper would have considered it was quite beautiful – hazy and blue, dusted with clouds, dotted with green forests and wrinkled, jagged mountains – had he not been so busy trying to stay alive.

This was not a situation he'd found himself in before.

_/Secondary thrusters operational (correction) somewhat operational (question?) perhaps can try to skim atmosphere_

_/Skim_

_/Skim_

_/No, too fast, power lacking_

From ground level barely kilometres below, you would've seen a silver sapphire-shaped blur _zoom_ through the upper atmosphere, quicker than a lightning bolt. Pinpricks of light flared on its surface as it tried to propel itself upward.

_/The Starfarer can jump away if all repairs are focused on core. Can jump away, far away to gas giant planet will be safe there and able to think/wait/repair_

_/No jump is too dangerous_

_/Cannot risk. D__isruption to planet's gravity well may affect/destroy indigenous species (moral consideration) unfortunate_

_/Other options?_

All around the ship, thousands of white cubes stopped in mid-air for a moment, frozen with indecision. Deep within, impact protection systems began to come to life (the ones that still worked anyway). To Cooper's question there was unfortunately no answer; but this was expected, as he was the only member of his species within several hundred light years.

_/No options_

_/The pilgrimage will be unfulfilled_

_/I am… alone_

His eyes flashed open in the smoke-filled chamber as the realisation nearly crushed him. He was alone, really _alone_ - away from the comforting buzz of the spheres, ready to die on a distant, backwards planet far, far away. Too far away. His breath was cold.

…

_/No, WRONG_

_/Alone but survival not impossible_

_/Perhaps if we survive will not be alone (IMPORTANT)_

Cooper scrambled back to the pilot's station. Perhaps he could reconfigure the shape, jettison mass to form a shield and if he could manoeuvre _just_ enough and keep the fields from failing just a little longer - just a little longer - but the surface of the planet was approaching fast, too fast, he didn't have time to do all that, although every little bit would help and suddenly, brilliantly he had an _idea_—__

Then many things happened at once and there was an incredible sound and a huge concussion and a burst of blue and white and PAIN_—_

* * *

><p>Pain. Joe felt it keenly as he stared at the long, red slice in his finger. Blood trickled down his pale white skin and dripped onto the grass. It hurt.<p>

But at the same time, it didn't. The pain was distant, something you could ignore. He turned his finger over and watched it bleed curiously.

"Oh my gosh! Joe, what happened?" On the other side of the garden_, _his mom dropped her half-filled washing basket in the grass, shocked. She ran quickly to his side.

"I cut it on the fence."

"Where?"

Joe pointed at a dark red splotch on the metal. One of the panels in the fence had rusted, exposing a sharp edge. Elizabeth took his hand in hers and looked closely at the cut. "Does it hurt?"

"A bit. Not really." Joe tried to put on a brave face, like 9-year-old boys do, but actually his sliced finger was starting to hurt _quite a lot_. "Ow!"

"Oops, sorry. Just – don't move, okay darling, I'll get a bandage from inside. Where's dad?"

"He's getting the ball from across the road!" Joe called out… but Elizabeth was already disappearing up the steps around the front of the house.

It was a hot summer's day in central Ohio, without a hint of a breeze in the muggy air as the sun beat down from above. The whole town was green, but it was a _dry_ sort of green – the kind you get when it hasn't rained for nearly a week. Grass crackled sharply underfoot, insects chirped, trees provided thankful patches of shade. The air smelt of apple blossoms and freshly-dug dirt. All in all, it was a good day to be out, so Joe and his dad were playing baseball in the garden.

Or they had been, at least - until his dad had smacked the ball over the road, over the next house, and into the lane on the other side. (Joe wasn't very good at baseball. He wasn't even sure if he liked it, actually… but it was fun sometimes, and Jack said he should practice if he wanted to get on the school team.)

Blood dripped onto the grass.

Soon, his mom came running back out, a small bandage and a bottle in her hands. She was wearing a simple green dress patterned with flowers - a detail he'd always remember. "I'm going to put some of this on your finger," she said quickly. "It might hurt a bit, okay?"

Joe nodded and looked away. Elizabeth took his hand, wiped the blood off, then rubbed something foul-smelling into the cut. It stung sharply. He winced.

"That's it. Be brave," she said softly. She cleaned the wound again and the bandage went on next, thin and white, wrapping around his finger half-a-dozen times until she cut the cloth with scissors and stuck it down tight. It pressed into his skin with a dull, throbbing ache. Elizabeth stood up and peered at her handiwork. "How is it?"

Joe flexed his finger experimentally. "Better."

"Good. Although next time when you decide to climb a fence, you might want to, you know – check it for edges first." She smiled a sort of playful, warning smile, the same one she used whenever there were ~_lessons~ to be ~learned~._ "Actually… can I have another look at that bandage?"

"Why?"

"I just want to make sure it'll stick."

Joe held out his hand cautiously as the sun glared down on both of them. Suddenly, Elizabeth grabbed it and planted a big wet kiss on his finger.

"Hey!" Joe pulled away and jumped back, embarrassed. He looked over his shoulder to check if any of the neighbours were watching.

"What's the matter? Scared of a little kiss?"

"I'm _not_ scared!"

"You are _too._"

"I'm not!"

"Then you won't mind, my dear little Lamb if I just lean over and—"

His mother reached out to grab him and instantly he turned and sprinted away. She just laughed and chased after, running in her green summer dress. Joe looked over his shoulder and saw her closing the gap. He sped up, leading her around the big pine tree, under the old swingset, past the flowerbeds and her discarded washing basket. "I'm catching up!" She was still laughing wildly and suddenly Joe found himself laughing too, panting, gasping for breath and the sound of their happiness rang out over the town, beautiful and clear and pure.

"…Have I missed something?"

Jack Lamb was standing on the sidewalk, gazing at them both with a wry grin on his face. Joe whirled around skidded to a stop so fast he almost slammed into the side of the house. Elizabeth stopped a few metres behind, breathing hard. "I was just teaching Joe the value of… a kiss," she said mysteriously.

"Well, I certainly know the value of those," his father replied, even more mysteriously.

"Jack! You can't say-"

"What?"

"Oh, never _mind_."

"I won't," Jack said. "Now, if I recall correctly, Joe and I were exploring the finer points of batting before you lunatics started runnin' around. Joe, you wanna keep playing?"

Joe shrugged. "Sure." His finger wasn't hurting too much.

"Great, 'cause I think you're finally getting the hang of it too. If you take the ball again—"

"Hey!" Elizabeth interrupted, putting put her hands on her hips. "Wait a second. What about _me_?"

Jack frowned. "What about you?"

"What if I want to play?"

Joe grinned. "Yeah. What if mom wants to play?"

"Well, if mom wants to play then she's welcome to – if she can stand up to the bat of old Deputy Jack."

Elizabeth walked straight up to her husband and snatched the baseball from his open palm. Jack shook his head, smiling to himself and picked the bat from the grass. He took up position at the far end of the yard, Elizabeth standing opposite. Joe smiled up at the sky and smelled the air, and at that moment the day felt perfect.

"Joe, you ready to catch this one?" his mom asked.

"I'm ready to catch _anything_," Joe shot back.

"Good. Because here it comes!"

His mother threw the baseball and it was a surprisingly good pitch. The ball was fast, low and straight, but his dad was ready and watching and with a _whoosh_ the bat swung forwards—

_Thwack!_

The ball shot up and Joe watched it soar into the air, into the deep blue sky. It was incredible. No clouds, just a vast sapphire ocean. And the air was so _blue—_

* * *

><p>Blue. That was the colour of the gas giant planet that the Homesphere had always orbited round. A lovely, aquamarine blue, so smooth your eyes could swim in it. The light of the local star reflected from the gas-planet's surface and gave the mountains, craters and chasms of the Homesphere moon an ever-present indigo glow.<p>

Cooper was walking through one of those chasms now. It was a shallow canyon that cut its way across the 'sphere, through a smooth grey plain dotted with methane seas. Along the sides of the canyon, his people stood – hundreds of them, even thousands – ashen muscular shapes that watched and waited in silence.

At the other end of the canyon, his ship was waiting for him. A silver starfish pointing proudly at the sky.

As Cooper walked, his people watched; following his path with their large, glossy eyes. He could feel the buzz of their thoughts all around him as a comforting, electric cloud. /_Pilgrimage (happy) it is good to see another it has been too long /Cooper has always been one of our best the Mother will be proud /We wish for safe and quick return and a fruitful journey /The stars are beautiful are they not? See them far too rarely._

Tunnel entrances loomed in the canyon walls, gaping black holes that led to the caves below the Homesphere's surface. Still more figures were emerging from them now, rearing up on their hind legs to peer over the swaying crowd. Alien calls echoed through the mist. The surface wasn't seen or visited very often; most of their species' lives were spent underground, in the shadows, where it was warm... Where it was safe.

Soon, Cooper reached the end of the canyon. The ship stood tall before him and he gazed upon its brilliant surface.

_/Your ship now._

Something big stepped out of the crowd – a huge, grey-skinned alien, different from all the others. It (_she)_ was covered in twisting, winding bone growths, with nine slender legs that emerged from her lower thorax. Slithering tentacles curled around her back like an ancient, rippling forest. She looked… old.

_/It is your ship now Cooper'1213 and (warning) you must use it well. Embark upon pilgrimage._

Her thought was piercing and clear as she approached, instantly drowning out every other as it appeared fully-formed in his mind. /_Embark upon pilgrimage. Explore. Experience. Expand. Return. Bring value to us. Uphold our honour. Become new._

/_Affirmed, _he replied. A mixture of nervousness and calm.

_/Then Cooper'1213 is ready (wise encouragement) and Cooper'1213 may go. Upon return you will be a child no longer._

Cooper knelt down. The figure stepped forwards, and, gently, she touched him. Her hand slipped across his forehead. Blue-tinted mist swirled above their heads. /_You will be _my_ child no longer. You will be a child of the stars. You will become new. You will evolve. You will become one of us. There are many stars in this universe and they require visiting..._

She stepped back, and he opened his eyes. From the assembled figures there was a reassuring, silent sigh. This was the way things were meant to be. Cooper suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. All his aches, all his old pains; he couldn't feel them anymore. And in his mind, he felt… _happy_.

This was the way things were meant to be.

_/Now your pilgrimage it will begin._

The Mother stepped back. Eerily, she melted away, into the shadow of the canyon walls. Cooper strode forwards up the ramp of the ship. The walls parted as he reached them, the cubes dissolving to reveal a wide, circular doorway. Beyond it was his new home for the months and years ahead.

Cooper turned in the doorway and gazed back at his assembled people. They watched him as one mind, their thoughts reaching out and giving him encouragement, advice, a whole sea of feeling that he would always treasure – and miss – as he drifted among the stars.

There was one face in particular that he would miss. One that stood out from the others. The face had bright white markings around its nose and forehead, a little like Cooper's own, and that alien face, right now, seemed to have a smile upon it. A sad, proud smile.

_/Now your pilgrimage begins. __Be safe._

Cooper looked up, through the thick methane clouds, at the giant blue planet and twinkling lights up above.

_/Affirmed._

The door closed. Engines fired. The ship spun smoothly and rose towards the stars.

A sad, proud smile.

* * *

><p>"…I think The Flash would win," Joe said, smiling.<p>

Cary spluttered on his juice. "Oh my _god_ Joe, what are you even saying?"

"What? I think he would—"

"No way. The Silver Surfer's faster - I guarantee it."

Martin rolled his eyes. "You guys are such nerds sometimes."

"Like you can talk, Smartin."

"Don't call me that, Cary."

"Why not Smartin?"

"Because… ugh. Charles, back me up here, would you?"

Charles leaned back and smiled innocently. "I'm staying out of this," he murmured, chewing on a Twizzler. "Besides – I think Superman would kick both their asses."

"No he _wouldn't_," Joe said derisively

"Why? Do _you_ know how fast Superman can go?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Because I think he's the fastest. By FAR."

Then Preston looked up for the first time in about three minutes. "So, uh... what the heck are you guys talking about?"

They were sitting in a circle in the middle of the sports oval, on a blustery autumn morning when Joe was ten years old. It was the date of the annual Lillian Elementary sports day, and hundreds of kids were clustered around the multi-coloured pavilions set up on the emerald grass. The painted white outline of the running track followed the curve of the oval, past smooth sand pits for the jumping events and marked-off areas for throwing. Schoolkids were yelling and chasing around like mad, barely kept in check by harried teachers and the parents sitting on benches at the far end of the field.

"We," Cary said grandly, "are deciding which superhero would win in a race."

Preston frowned. "It's Green Lantern obviously, he can enter hyperspace. But shouldn't we be talking about sport or something? It's sports day, not comic-books day."

"We're talking about a race aren't we? That's a sport," Charles retorted.

"No, it _isn't_," Martin interrupted.

"Yes, it _is_," Charles shot back. "Preston, are you actually in any events or did you just get the day off school for nothing?"

"Hey! I'm in the relay and the long jump AND triple-jump - that's probably more than you."

"Triple jump?" Joe asked. "Doesn't that mean you're just really good at hopping?"

Preston sighed. "No, just think of it like long jump except with three jumps instead of one. Like it says in the name." He thought for moment. "…buuuuut actually, yes, there is some hopping involved. How many events are you in, Charles?"

"Lots of them," Charles said defensively. "All the throwing ones. And I'm gonna win 'em."

"Hmm. Is Ben Huxley doing the same ones?"

"…Yeah."

"Hmmmmm."

They all stared pensively at the absolute hulk of a sixth-grader standing under the next pavilion. Ben Huxley was… well. Let's just say that Ben had issues. Sometimes with Charles and their group specifically, but mostly just issues with everyone. That wouldn't have been a problem except that Ben had been kept down two years and as a result was nearly the biggest kid in the school.

"Well, good luck," Preston muttered.

"Thanks. I guess."

Then, suddenly, a whistle blew and the school vice-principal was announcing something over the loudspeakers. Across the oval, every kid stopped to listen: _"…All sixth-grade boys running the hundred metres please come to the starter's tent. All sixth-grade boys running the hundred metres please come to the starter's tent. Thank you."_

"That's us," Cary said quietly. "Joe, Martin, you coming?"

They began picking their way across the sports field, past schoolbags and jumpers and discarded chip packets. Charles and Preston waved after them. Joe waved back, and scuffed the heels of his new sneakers against the grass.

"So, uh… which division are you guys in?" Cary asked.

"C," Martin replied.

"A."

"What?"

"I'm in A-division," Joe repeated.

"_Why?"_

"Will got sick yesterday. He can't race."

Cary took a breath and shook his head. "You're gonna lose, Joe," he said bluntly.

"No I'm not."

"Yeah you are."

"Hey, I can run fast when I want to."

"But not _that_ fast."

Joe knew inside that Cary was sort of right - but hey, maybe the new shoes would help. He could feel a couple of butterflies in his stomach and a big heavy lump which he assumed was his morning tea. Next to him Martin was looking around nervously, back and forth between the sky and the horizon.

"What about you, Smartin? Are you gonna win?" Cary asked.

"What?"

"I said, are you gonna win?"

"Oh. Maybe."

"Just make sure your glasses don't fall off this year," Joe added helpfully. "Did you tape them to your nose like we told you? My dad said that might work."

"...they're not gonna fall off..." Martin answered.

"Okay."

They arrived at the runner's tent. About twenty other kids were there, eight for each division. Division C went first, and a minute or two later they were all waiting ready behind the start line.

_BANG! _went the starter's gun.

Martin came third. He looked really happy.

The Division B went. Someone named Daniel won, but the race was made slightly more memorable by one kid falling over about ten feet from the finish line and taking out the person next to him.

Then it was Division A's turn. Joe took his place on the start line, in the third lane, a couple of spots away from Cary. Cary gave him a grin and a thumbs up; Joe rolled his eyes and took few deep breaths. The finish line looked awfully small in the distance. Awfully far away. He swallowed and looked up at the benches where all the parents were sitting… and saw his mom. She was sitting a couple of rows back, next to Mrs. Kaznyk, dark hair shining beneath the steel sky. Elizabeth turned, saw him looking and waved. She grinned proudly and mouthed something that looked like _'You can do it!'_ Joe smiled and waved back.

"On your marks!"

Joe immediately tensed and took another quick breath. Focused on the finish line. A few of the kids knelt down in sprint positions, but Joe just leaned forwards and got ready to run.

"Get set!"

_Just don't come last_, he thought to himself._ Just don't come last. Just don't come last. Just don't come—_

BANG!

A split-second of reaction. His heart skipped a beat.

He ran. Pushed off as fast as he could, muscles straining, arms pumping, feet pounding on the grass. Faster and faster until the world was just a blur except for that distant finish-ribbon flapping in the breeze. Nearly every thought left his mind as instinct took over until he couldn't even count his steps anymore – _slap slap slap slap slap _– and his body felt like air. He saw Cary out the corner of his eye a few metres ahead, saw the boy to his right basically neck-and-neck. Sprinting. Breathing hard. Now someone else was overtaking and he tried to force himself to go faster. He couldn't. The finish line was getting closer by the instant. Cheering voices echoed in the back of his mind. But he wasn't gonna come last, he couldn't see that many people ahead of him, he wasn't gonna come last, he was gonna come fourth, or fifth_—_

All he knew was the memory of running.

* * *

><p>Cooper had a memory of running of his own, of running through the tunnels, surrounded by his friends. Their names were Masaq'-417 and Zila-421 and their thought-words echoed in his ears.<p>

_/Take next route through secondary tunnel_

_/Cooper is slow (mocking) too slow!_

/_(retort)_ Masaq' _is too slow_

_/Incorrect. Both are too slow, and both talk too much_

A huge grey blur whipped past them - Zila, leaping gracefully through the air. She landed with a skid and sped off even faster. Alien limbs pounded against the atom-smooth tunnel floor as Masaq' and Cooper galloped after in pursuit. Running, chasing, flying. Young and free.

_/Don't think we are allowed here, _Cooper thought worriedly.

_/They will never know,_ was Zila's breathless reply.

_Tunnels_. The Homesphere's tunnel system was an immense underground labyrinth, a network of spiralling, snaking caverns that honeycombed its way through the rocky core of the moon. The tunnels were old, awesomely ancient, and according to history had been dug by the first of Cooper's species to develop intelligence thousands upon thousands of years ago – back when they had to dig by hand, instead of using drones to do it for them. Despite their age the tunnels were in near-pristine condition: the walls were all perfectly machined, curving with gentle mathematical smoothness as they wound through millions of kilometres of flat dark rock. Nearly all of Cooper's life had been spent in the tunnels.

He loved it.

In this section the tunnels criss-crossed like roots of a tree, diverging at intersections and meeting in larger chambers. Up ahead was one of those chambers – a long, high-ceilinged cavern that was filled with humming silver machines. And floating around the machines were… lights. Bright, orb-shaped lights, about half a metre in diameter, hovering and buzzing softly like alien will-o'-the-wisps. The whole chamber was bathed in their multi-coloured glow, blue, green, purple, gold.

_/Look! The lights are working_

_/Amazing_

_/(Warning) Be careful not to touch—_

_/Cooper is still too slow!_

Masaq' took the lead as he thundered through the middle of the chamber, feet thumping, a huge, agile beast. Cooper and Zila followed close behind and the lights scattered out their way with an annoyed sort of shudder. Then they were back in the tunnels; the floor sloped downhill and bent sharply and Cooper nearly slipped over as he went around the corner, six limbs all struggling for purchase.

_/Take care_

_/Thanks_

_/…(playful) watch out!_

Cooper heard the last thought in the back of his mind. He glanced behind him and saw Zila leap forwards, arms outstretched – and he zig-zagged just in time to dodge her friendly strike. He swung back with one giant hand but, as always, she ducked easily ducked through his grasp.

They were almost there. Almost at the place. They kept running, through an intersection, past a line of grey-skinned, bewildered worker-types. Masaq' was the oldest of them and pulled ahead (he'd always been bigger than the others). Every now and then a wall would flicker as they passed, revealing a patch of interlocked white shapes. Cubes. Cooper was tired but he still kept up with them - he was growing stronger and faster every day, nearly ready for the pilgrimage.

Suddenly the tunnel ended in a flat, wide ledge and the three of them skidded to a stop. Before them was… air. _Lots_ of air.

Here the tunnel opened up onto a giant circular shaft, maybe half a kilometre in diameter, boring vertically through the rock. Above, barely visible, was a faint blue energy-dome that shielded the top of the shaft from the surface. Below, going down, down, down… the shaft just disappeared into the shadows (this particular shaft, in fact, went straight to the core of the moon).

_/Tunnel is busy today _Masaq' buzzed.

_/Today is important (obviously) _Zila replied. /_Masaq' should be more attentive_

All around the shaft, it was a riot of movement. Huge batlike creatures flapped through the air, leathery wings stretched out wide, ferrying cargo back and forth between the other tunnels and openings. Swirls of the small white cubes raced past, darting, whirling, forming shapes for the briefest of instants. Arrow-straight spears of blue light pulsed up and down nearby, serving as guides for squadrons of autonomous silver drones. One even _bigger_ airbeast floated high above, trailing tentacles; its enormous round bulk shadowed almost a quarter of the shaft.

Cooper took a deep breath of cold, underground air. It smelled of recycling.

_/Jump? _Zila asked.

Cooper blinked. He looked down at the infinite tunnel. /_Danger…_

_/Fun!_

_/…still danger_

_/Cooper'1413 came to jump _Zila reminded him. /_Came to jump with Zila and Masaq'. Cooper is our friend but if Cooper does not jump Cooper will be pushed._

_/Known. But wait (please), _Cooper thought. /_Must think first. Must prepare oneself for-_

_/No waiting! No thinking! (forceful happy) Prepared now, time to go! _

Zila grabbed onto his arm. Their skin touched for a moment, wet and warm.

Then she shoved him over the ledge and out into the open air.

The world twisted. There was the rush of air; the sensations of shock, and vertigo, and falling. He sensed a shape flying past—

_Grab! _Zila whispered.

Almost without his permission, Cooper's four arms lashed out and locked around the leg of one of the flying bat-beasts. The creature screeched and tilted wildly but soon managed to right itself, glaring angrily at the one-ton weight that was now hanging from its body. Its wings slapped at the air. Cooper looked around at the air, at the—

_/Cooper is too slow! Always too SLOW_

Masaq' dove past him in a blur of thrashing wings and limbs, holding onto a bat-slave of his own. Cooper forgot about falling for a moment and on instinct willed his creature to give _/Chase!_

It did. _Fast. _The bat arrowed downward and suddenly Cooper was darting through the rush, past other bats and drones and floods of white cubes. Masaq' rolled sideways, holding on with one hand. Zila's joyous thoughts flooded the air from somewhere behind. The world seemed to glow. They spiralled past a stream of crackling blue plasma that reached out with fingers of lightning, but the creatures knew exactly where to go and whizzed past with room to spare.

_/You were right, _Cooper thought. /_…Why can't we fly?_

_/Because then we would do nothing else, _Zila replied. /_Look up!_

He looked up. Behind them, a vast wall of cubes was forming around the edge of the shaft. It flickered silver as it settled on the rock, extending and reforming as thousands more cubes swarmed in from the tunnels every second, layered in geometric shapes. Creatures and drones had to rush out of the way. And above, by the distant blue ceiling…

There was an extremely bright light. Almost blinding, white and pure.

_/This is why it is an important day?_

The light grew bigger, whiter, like a miniature sun that was slowly descending from the top of the cavern. He could hear it now too, a dull roar that filled the tunnel air. Filled his senses. The beauty of heights, the breath of the wind; this was so much better than running. The light was _very_ big. The ship was getting close. And suddenly, as he soared... all he could think about was flying, and how his world so very, very bright.

* * *

><p><em>Anger.<em> Bright and hot.

"Joe Lamb, get back here!"

"NO!"

He stomped through the kitchen, knives and forks clattering with every step. The table was set for Sunday dinner – three clean white plates ready for roast vegetables and lamb. Outside, the sun was just about to set.

"I mean it, Joe!"

"Go away!"

"Joe—"

His mom appeared in the doorway in front of him, with hot red cheeks and eyes like daggers. Elizabeth Lamb didn't get angry very often, but when she did…

Joe immediately turned and ran the other way, suddenly afraid. His mother darted after him, out through the hall, shockingly quick. She caught him in the front room and he almost fell as she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him round to face her.

"You are _grounded_," Elizabeth hissed. "For a WEEK."

Joe shook his head. "You – you can't! You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can. I'm your _mother_."

"It's not FAIR!"

"I know it's not fair. But you haven't been very fair to me, either! You can't say those things to me, Joe!"

Joe suddenly tried to pull away but she held his arm with a vice-like grip. "Look at me!"

He tried not to. But she made him, with a voice of stone.

"Look at me."

Joe did. He looked at her in the shadowy front room, his vision blurred with tears. When he saw her face, how furious it was, how disappointed, how hopeless all at once, it felt… awful. Like something you could never fix. Elizabeth sniffed, and continued more softly. "You can't say those things, Joe. Not to me, not to anyone. You might think that's what you feel, but it's not. And saying those things… it hurts people. It makes them feel like – like nothing. And people aren't nothing, Joe."

A quiet silence as anger faded. Six o'clock's news crackled faintly from the TV in the lounge.

"Now, this is all I'm going to say about it: you are coming to your grandmother's this weekend. No arguing, no complaining. We are going to visit her, and we are going to talk to her, and we're going to have a _nice time_, and then…" Her voice cracked. "…and then we won't have to see her again. Till Christmas."

"But what about Charles?" Joe asked plaintively. "Can't I stay behind? Just once?"

"You'll have to see him another time."

"But I _promised_, mom. I promised that we—"

"You'll have to see him another time."

"But we were going to see—"

Elizabeth's eyes flashed. "God, Joe, I don't care about Charles! I don't care! Sometimes _family comes first!_"

Suddenly the anger came flooding back, swamping every other feeling in a tidal wave. "You should care!" he yelled. "It's IMPORTANT!"

"Joe—"

"We planned this for a whole _year!_"

"I know but things change! Just – listen! I let you spend time with your friends every day, I've let you for eleven years, but this once, just this _once_—"

"I hate you," he said quietly. Stupidly.

Elizabeth blinked. "…What?"

"I hate you."

She shook her head sadly. "No. You don't."

And that was when the front door swung open. His father walked in, wiping his feet on the mat, looking tired and grey from a hard day at the station. He dropped his bag and shut the door, grumbling a little to himself; then he saw them both standing there in the middle of the room – red faces, fists clenched – and frowned. Hard.

"...What in God's name is going on here?"

They shouted at him in unison. "Your_ son—"_

"Mom won't let me go to—"

_"_—__just said that he—"

"Whoa, whoa! Enough!" Jack strode forwards and roughly grabbed Joe's shoulders. "First, _you_ are going to your room." He glanced warningly at Elizabeth. "Then _you_ can tell me what this is all about." He shook his head, grumbling again as he began steering Joe towards the hallway. Joe fumed and stayed quiet, staring sullenly at the floor.

They walked in silence down the hall. His father gripped his arms almost painfully as he was pushed unwillingly forwards. He let his legs drag against the ground, making it difficult; Jack shook his head ad muttered something ugly under his breath.

"Okay, in here." He kicked open the door to Joe's bedroom and pulled Joe inside. It was still messy. He pointed at the bed. "Sit there. Be quiet. Don't come out until I tell you to," he said sharply.

Joe met his father's irritated gaze for a second before looking away. He trudged to the bed and threw himself onto it, still mad.

Jack shut the door with a quiet, final click.

Powerless.

In the sudden silence, Joe grabbed one of his pillows and squeezed it as hard as he could, hoping that it would burst and explode and let out everything inside. It didn't. He threw it at the wall instead, where it smacked against the plaster and knocked over one of his models. Then he lay back down and gazed blankly at the ceiling, thoughts whirling inside his head, round and round and round again. Uselessly. His skin felt hot. No sound, nothing. Just blood rushing through his ears.

It was quiet.

And when it wasn't quiet, a minute later, Joe would've preferred that angry, suffocating silence. Accusingly: _"He's _your_ son!"_

Bitterly: _"He's yours too, don't forget. People keep saying there's more of you than me in him."_

_ "How can you say that, Jack?"_

_ "Hey, don't twist it around on me! I just want to know why you two are standin' around yelling at each other in the living room!"_

Muffled shouting, from the other side of the wall. The kitchen, maybe.

_"It's because he hasn't got any _empathy!_ His grandmother's going to die and instead of going to see her all he wants to do is make movies with his friends!"_

_ "Well, did you tell him?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "That she's sick."_

_ "No! He's still young, he doesn't need to know exactly—"_

_ "If you didn't tell him, how can you expect him to care?"_

_ "Because she's _my mom_, Jack!"_

_ "I know that, Beth, believe me I know! But to him, she's just a daft old lady that he has to go visit twice a year. Sometimes, it's easy for me to feel like that too."_

Elizabeth took a while to answer. When she did, she just repeated the words. _"'Just a daft old lady you have to visit twice a year…'"_

_"I – I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Beth. I shouldn't have said it. I'm just tired."_

No reply.

_"And he does care. I'm sure he does. We all do…"_

Desperate, stifled sobs crept through the gap under his door. Joe tried to shut them out, but couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. He hid under his blankets and put his hands over his ears. Quiet, comforting darkness.

It was mother's day.

* * *

><p><em>Mother._

Cooper walked through the dark, dark cave. It was cold. Wet. Quiet. Moisture dripped from the rocky walls and pooled in stagnant crevices. Even with his huge, glistening eyes he could barely see the way ahead – he had to rely on clouds of smell and tiny, soft echoes. He paused briefly, sniffed, and delicately stepped over a patch of small stalagmites. Most of the caves had been smoothed and polished by a thousand years of passage, but not this one. This one was special.

_/Mother? Mother angry. Cooper bad. Doing, seeing things he shouldn't. Angry._

It was dark, though. _Very_ dark. He didn't like it when it was so dark. He was far, far away from the usual buzzing sea of thoughts; the only communication he'd had in the last hour was from a confused worker-drone that had gotten lost. Cooper almost thought he'd gotten lost too…

/_Make things better. Cooper must come here, and make things better._

…but just up ahead was the entrance he'd been trying to find: a black, round portal in the side of the tunnel, small and unassuming. Cooper leaned down and peered through the gap. It was… dark.

_/Very surprising (not)_

Cooper shuffled forwards and squeezed his three-metre bulk through the portal. He was still quite small for a youngling, but not exactly tiny either. With a bit of scraping he managed to lever himself through, and, with joint cracking, he stood up and looked around.

Yes, this was it. The old chamber.

It was round, roughly, with curving stone walls. Quite tall. Large. Mostly empty. A few inches of perfectly still water covered the unseen floor, as reflective as a black glass mirror. Some thin pillar-like structures rose from the liquid, oddly spaced, smooth and featureless and gently tapered. Cooper had no idea of their purpose. There were carvings on the walls too – huge carvings, of writhing alien shapes, ancient scenes filled with war and knowledge. Faint light played across the stone.

And in the middle of the cavern, there was a raised platform. Upon it was a flat silver casket. The surface was tarnished, pockmarked with age, but even from here Cooper could feel some kind of… aura. A cloud of muffled emotion.

Cooper blinked. He dipped one long finger slowly into the water, and watched a thousand ripples danced away from his touch. Then he took a step, and another, and began wading through the silent lake. The only sound was the gentle splash of his footsteps, and the soft echo of his breath. He wondered what his all his new friends would think of this – Zila and Masaq' and the others.

_/Curious_

After a moment, he reached the central dais. Water lapped gently at its edge. He climbed up onto the platform. All around him were the pillars and carvings and looming shadows; before him stood the silver casket. As he approached, the light in the cavern seemed to get slightly bluer, and he thought he could detect the faintest ultrasonic hum. The aura in the chamber seemed to be coming from here: the casket almost beckoned to him, _whispered_ to him, with its rough silver and ancient promises. Cooper reached out, and...

Nothing happened when he touched it; that was slightly disappointing. He peered closer, and brushed a layer of dust off its face. There was a faint depression in the side and he pressed it nearly without thinking. Then:

_Hissss…_

The casket activated. Pressurised air escaped from the thin black parting line that appeared around its lid – and slowly, slowly, the lid began tilting upwards. Cooper went down on all fours to get a closer look. Suddenly, he felt…

_/Should I be here (question)_

…scared. But eager, at the same time.

The casket opened. He almost hadn't expected it to.

Inside it, there were bones. White, old bones, large, jumbled together, covered in dust. They looked like they belonged to an old male – one that had died many years ago. The bones were very big. Cooper hoped he would be that big one day. The smell of death wafted around him, rising from the ancient carapace plates and flakes of dried skin. Cooper sniffed. Paused. The bones felt like a warning.

/_Mother. Father._

But he had to touch it. That was what they told him. He looked around the silent chamber, with its pillars and carvings and rippling water, and saw nothing. So he closed his eyes, and reached out.

As young skin touched crumbling bones the aura in the chamber _burst_.

_/Space. Shocking emptiness. The void between stars, the gulf between galaxies. Immeasurable. Unreachable. Crushing. Ships dancing with twinkling blue engines._

_/The taste of blood. Warm, black. Too much. Far too much._

_/Drowning._

_/Ghosts. Ghosts of aeons past. Angry. Bitter. HATEFUL—_

Cooper opened his eyes and whipped his hand off the bones. He scrambled back from the casket, nearly tumbling off the platform into the water. Terrible thoughts consumed him.

_/A cold, lifeless planet. Stranded. Trapped and tortured, no way out. There was nothing for them here._

He wanted to run. It wouldn't let him. He grabbed the lid of the casket and slammed it shut. It cracked, he didn't care, he only wanted it to _stop. /__Shadowy beasts, hunting, killing. _The silver glittered. And the bones… moved. In the middle of the ancient, forgotten cave, they _moved_. He couldn't see them, but he could _feel_ them jittering and shivering in their coffin. He knew it. He knew they wanted him, wanted to get out. An awful, awful rattle. The walls were moving too, flowing like black, suffocating ink.

_/Friends, all dead_

_/How does it feel to be alone?_

All around, the water rippled. He couldn't run. He couldn't. Cooper keened softly and curled up on the edge of the platform, helpless, limbs folding, squeezing himself into a bony, motionless ball. Shutting out the world, shutting out the thoughts. Just a child. He had to be brave.

/_Mother..._

Like that, he hid in the darkness, waiting for the light to come.

* * *

><p>Light. When Joe stepped out of the air-conditioned car, that was his first thought - how so very light it was. And hot. And <em>open. <em>He squinted at the cloudless blue sky for a moment, then leaned over to grab his bag from the back seat of the car.

"Holiday hats on, everyone!"

His mom settled a white, flowery sunhat over her head, shielding her face from the harsh Arizona sun. Joe and his dad pulled on matching red baseball caps. Jack grabbed their camera and locked the car; then they started picking their way along the sandy, winding path, following the signs to the viewing platform. The ground all around them was covered in low scrub – fine orange dirt dotted with scraggly green leaves.

The viewing platform was simply a paved circle at the edge of a rocky outcrop. A waist-high wooden fence ran around the edge, and there was a raised section in the middle plastered with information sheets. A couple of other families were already there – one old couple taking photos, another family with three young daughters. Jack led them to the far edge of platform and pressed up against the fence. He gestured briefly at the vast expanse before them.

"There she is. The Grand Canyon."

"Wooowww…" Joe breathed.

The Grand Canyon, true to its name, was pretty darn grand. It was like someone had taken a scoop out of the earth, but with a shovel as big as a mountain – creating a huge, winding chasm that twisted as far as the eye could see. The far side of the canyon had to be at least two miles away; the bottom was so far down that it had its _own_ hills and canyons and mountain ranges. The canyon's stony walls had a rough, detailed surface texture, incredibly steep and incredibly sharp, and were split into clear, arrow-straight layers of red, yellow and brown. Where the rock met the gravelly lower slopes it was much smoother, looking almost like cloth or crumpled paper in the distance. Really _enormous _paper.

And there was barely a tree to be seen. No vegetation, except an occasional brave patch of bushes (as you might expect in a desert). The air was dry, uncomfortably hot. The sky was hazy blue overhead. Sunlight played across the winding ridges and jagged, creased stone, casting deep black shadows.

"It so… _big_," Joe murmured.

"Do you know what made it?" Jack asked.

He shook his head.

"It was the Colorado River. Over millions of years, the water carves away the stone. Like when you build a sandcastle on the beach, and it gets washed away by the waves. Except the stone's a lot stronger the sand and it takes much, much longer… but the river just keeps going, and flowing, and gradually it carves out its own shape. It's called erosion. All the rock gets cut away and washed out to the ocean. How old are you now?"

"I'm _twelve_, dad."

"Hey, it's easy to forget when the numbers get that big. But just for perspective, this place has been around about a million times longer than you."

Joe frowned. He looked around at the canyon's vast length, at its huge two-mile width, at the hint of the placid, brown-watered river that flowed close to a mile below. "Did one river really do all this?"

His dad grinned. "Why, I'm glad you asked. At the same time, all the ground around us – the Colorado plateau, it's called – was pushed upwards. Lots of the rocks here were originally below sea level, but they've risen nearly 10,000 feet since the dinosaurs died. And as they rise, it lets the river cut through them faster, and makes all these mountains stretch into huge strange shapes. After millions of years, more time than you or I can imagine… this is what you get. A grand canyon."

"Why did the rocks come up?"

Jack thought for a moment, then shrugged. "…Ask a geologist."

"Huh."

Elizabeth smiled at that. "I think your father's been doing some homework," she muttered. "Best not ask him anything _too _difficult."

Joe looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Have you been here before, mom?"

"No. Never had the chance. It's… beautiful."

They stared at it for a moment longer. A flock of birds were circling above the centre of the chasm, maybe half a mile away. Joe could just see their shadows skimming across the rock – skimming across layers of red-yellow stone and vegetation clinging to the slopes.

"Speaking of homework… do you remember what day it is, Joe?" his dad asked mysteriously.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Go on then."

Joe took off his backpack and unzipped the front pocket. Out of it, he took a small cardboard box, wrapped in newspaper. He handed it to his mom and said, "Here."

Elizabeth took the box and stared at it curiously. "What's this?"

"Happy mother's day," he said.

Elizabeth blinked. She paused for a second, then started unwrapping the present, carefully removing the layers of paper. Jack smiled faintly and turned back to the view, watching out the corner of his eye. The birds wheeled overhead.

When his mom opened the box, she gave a little gasp. "Oh, _Joe_," she murmured softly. Inside was… silver, glinting in the sunlight. Something that he'd had spent a long time making.

"I hope it's okay," Joe said nervously.

"It's more than okay. It's _perfect_." Elizabeth grinned, and stepped forwards and threw her arms around her son. She hugged him tight and Joe hugged her back, and their twin smiles were the brightest thing beneath that endless desert sky.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"So am I."

It was mother's day.

This time, they were tears of happiness.

* * *

><p>Happiness. <em>Happiness.<em> That was what he felt when she picked him out.

_/Cooper'1213. Follow._

She beckoned, and disappeared through the opening in the back of the chamber. Cooper stood up. The rest of the children watched him with glowing, curious eyes. Some of them were jealous; the bigger ones especially. The younger ones, though, were happy for him. Slowly, he picked his way through the crowd, across the low-ceilinged cavern.

He soon reached the opening. He turned around to look back at his brood-mates – a sea of awkward limbs and small, leathery bodies, crammed together in the dark. The children were all tired, had learned a lot, but this was _why_ they learned: so that one day, they would be picked out and shown... the truth. Cooper took a deep breath, and then disappeared from view.

She was waiting around the corner. The Mother.

_/Come, Cooper_

She began walking down the tunnel. He followed her a short way behind. The Mother was enormous, compared to him; at full height, he barely came up to her knees. But he was still young. He'd grow. The Mother, on the other hand, was old. Her skin was wrinkled and cracked, and her legs creaked as she walked, and the tangled tentacles that covered her back moved with lazy, lethargic slowness - licking the air, scraping the familiar stone walls. Cooper saw that her eyes were closed.

_/Do you know why you are chosen? _she asked.

Cooper didn't.

_/Not just because you are strong, or fast. Because you are_ smart. _Too often,__ this is of forgotten value._

His heart(s) nearly burst with pride.

_/Here._

The Mother led him through into another huge, dark space. To a species unaccustomed to living underground, you could be forgiven for thinking most caves were the same. But for someone who'd spend their life in darkness… caves could be as distinct as any landscape, as deserts and fields and forests. Some tunnels were warm and comforting, like a mother's womb; others were long and curving, like roads in the midnight. Some were dry, sandy and desolate, while others were wet and filled with life.

This particular cave was... big. It was also imposing, and curiously hushed, like an empty, dark church. It felt _important. _

_/Wait. _The Mother walked onwards, and with surprising swiftness, her huge shape vanished into the gloom. Cooper waited. He could hear her doing something in the shadows, scratching, knocking about. Touching things.

Suddenly, strangely, there was a sound like a flute – a high, lonely note. Then a lower note which echoed all around them, alien and sad and beautiful.

The sound faded.

And the chamber began to _light_ up. Glowstrips on the floor buzzed to life, shining soft and yellow. They illuminated gently curving walls that rose to a ceiling high overhead, and a floor that was made of dark, almost organic-looking metal. Strange machinery and pipes covered the floor in criss-crossing patterns, all pointing to the centre of the cave like spokes of a wheel. In the middle was a smooth, circular platform.

From it, a giant blue sphere suddenly _erupted_ into existence, hovering just above the ground. The sphere was made of projected holographic light, faintly transparent; an insanely complex network of lines ran through its centre, surrounded by the barest hint of an atmosphere and a rough, cratered surface.

It was the Homesphere. Cooper stared in wonder as the projection rotated slowly; he'd never seen it like this before. The Mother watched it too, standing a little closer. She lifted something to her mouth and played another note, silhouetted by the strong blue glow.

More lights. More wonder, fading into view.

First were the nebulae. They appeared as swirling, insubstantial clouds, like wisps of the lightest aquamarine smoke that hung suspended in the air. Then were the stars, just tiny bright pinpricks, millions of them dotted all through the giant cavern. Uncountable numbers, spread between packed clusters and delicate, spiderwebbed trails. There were other places, too – other planets, other moons, represented as smaller blue spheres that revolved slowly around the Home. Orbital paths were displayed around them as solid rings of blue. Greener lines swept arcs from planet to moon to planet, connecting the many worlds that had been explored by their people.

_/This is the galaxy, _the Mother told him. She gazed upwards, following one of the spinning planets with her eyes, watching as it passed through the distant nebulae near the roof of the cave. Cooper looked as well. He didn't know the planet's name. The Mother touched one of the central control panels and the Homesphere shrank and sped away, replaced by the new planet which ballooned large in the centre of the room. It had a strange shape; not circular, but more irregular like a lump of misshapen sand. The air sang.

_/And this is the universe_

Immediately every star in the room _darted_ inwards to a single central point, merging into an impossibly bright speck. More lights instantly burst into existence all around, and more, and more, all zipping towards the centre of the room sickeningly fast as if the image was zooming out and out past solar systems and stars and galaxies… until, eventually, he saw it.

_Everything._

Now, the dots weren't stars. They were _galaxies_. Clusters of galaxies, trillions upon trillions of worlds, all connected by vast, intertwined webs of dark matter that spanned fifteen billion light years across the universe.

_/You will be there, one day, _the Mother thought softly. /_This is your first step._

Cooper breathed in deeply. He raised one of his arms, and opened his fingers, and swept them slowly through the sea of warm blue light. Galaxies scattered from his touch. Civilisations rose and fell as they orbited around his shoulders.

The Mother stepped back, and he shivered in breathless awe.

* * *

><p>Joe shivered, with a mixture of cold and anticipation. He looked out the window at the entrance to the gymnasium, which was newly-bedecked with flowers and hanging cloth banners. <em>'Homecoming Dance 19<em>_78!' _it said. _'When You Wish Upon a Star.'_

"Nervous?" Elizabeth asked, from the front seat of the car.

"No, not really." Although he did feel a little uncomfortable in his collared shirt and tie.

"I still think you could've asked someone."

"It's okay, mom. None of my friends are going with anyone. Charles isn't, and I don't think Cary is either. Or Martin."

"That doesn't mean _you_ can't ask someone." Elizabeth smiled. "Don't you like any of the girls in your class?"

Joe looked away, embarrassed. "No! It's not—"

"What about the tall one that's always winning those running competitions? Brooke? She's pretty, isn't she? Why don't you ask her?"

"Mom! Shhh!"

"Okay, okay. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." She winked.

Outside, a steady stream of cars passed through the parking lot, dropping off girls in shining dresses and boys in fancy ties. Partners walked arm-in-arm or were escorted by beaming parents. A photographer was snapping pictures outside, camera flashing upon the faded red carpet that led to the gymnasium entrance (still slightly damp from the night's earlier rain).

Elizabeth stopped the car in an out-of-the-way spot. She turned around in her seat, frowned a little; then reached out with one hand and straightened Joe's collar. "There you go."

He smiled. "Thanks mom."

She stared at him for a moment longer. Then she shook her head, and sighed. Happy, sad... maybe both. "I'm going to have to let you go sometime, aren't I," she murmured softly. "...Go on, shoo! Get out and have some fun."

"Yeah." Joe nodded and opened the car door, and stepped out into the warm autumn air. "Have a good time with dad."

"I will. I'll pick you up at ten, alright?"

The car disappeared back up the hill. He saw her waving. He waved back.

Then he turned, and started walking towards the dance. The music was already audible from outside. He trudged down the damp red carpet, past some potted roses the gardeners had brought out, beneath the dangling trails of party streamers. A trio of girls from his eighth-grade class glided by, chatting animatedly to each other. Joe glanced at the teacher - Dr. Woodward - who was supervising the entrance with a bored look in his eyes, then ducked through the gymnasium door. The song hit him as soon as he walked in.

_"Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me… Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…"_

Dancing.

Darkness.

A disco ball, spinning lazily.

People packed together, moving like waves on a beach. Sound filling his ears.

Joe stood on his tiptoes and peered around the room, looking for recognisable faces.

"Hey Joe! Over here!"

They were in the far corner, next to the stage. It took him a few seconds to make his way there through the crowd. "Hey guys. What's up?"

"My IQ," Preston said casually.

Cary whirled around. "_Wow._ Have you been saving that one up all night, Math Camp?"

"…Maybe."

"Cool shirt Joe," Charles added.

"Thanks, yours is too." (It wasn't really, but he wanted to be nice; it had ruffles on it.) "How long have you guys been here?"

"About ten minutes."

"More like fifteen," Martin corrected. "And they've _already_ played this song twice."

"It's a good song!"

"It's not a good song. And Charles, you don't know anything about music."

"Hey, I listen to the radio sometimes."

"That doesn't count."

_"We climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies - singing come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…"_

Cary snickered. "Do you want to know _why_ Martin doesn't like this song?"

"Ooh. Yes I _do!_" Preston replied knowingly.

Martin frowned. Then his eyes widened. "No. Nonononono."

Joe and Charles exchanged a glance, then said in unison: "Tell us."

"Well, it's because— hey! Martin, that hurts!"

"Shut up Cary!"

"Ow! Stop hitting me! Ow! It's because—"

Dr Woodward's voice suddenly rang out from across the room. "Martin Haverford, please stop punching your friend! This is a school dance, not a wrestling match!"

Martin jumped back, embarrassed. "Yeah Martin," Cary muttered. "Stop hitting your friend."

Martin just glared. "Oh my _god_, Cary, you're lucky I AM your friend."

"Or what?"

"Or—"

"Hey guys, stop it," Joe interrupted.

"—or I'll hit you again! Those are _bad memories,_ Cary! Why would you even bring that up?"

"Because it's funny?" Cary shot back.

"It IS pretty funny," Preston agreed.

Charles just rolled his eyes. "Who cares. Come on, just leave it. Let's go and dance for a while."

Immediately, there was stunned silence. The crowd flowed around them – hundreds of kids from fifth to ninth grade, swirling beneath the dim, multi-coloured lights. Joe felt the music rumble in his chest. "_I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory - some happy, some sad, I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had…"_

"Dance? You want _us_ to dance?" Martin asked incredulously.

"Well, isn't that the point?" Charles protested.

"Yeah, but who _with?_"

They all turned and looked out over the polished wooden floor of the gym; it was a good question. There were plenty of people there, that was for sure. Plenty of girls. But…

"I'll dance with you, Charles," Cary whispered.

"_Shut up_."

The song ended, and changed to something a bit more soft and slow. The couples on the dancefloor spread out, and clasped each other's arms. Balloons and streamers floated through the gloom like ghosts. A few boys nervously approached new partners in that massively-awkward but still-charming way that seems to work wonders when you're thirteen.

"Hey, look. There's Alice Dainard," Charles said quietly. He pointed across the other side of the room; Alice was standing there with a few of her friends, in a simple yellow dress.

"…And?" Preston asked.

"I... never mind." Charles looked like he was about to say something, but then decided to stay quiet. Joe looked at Alice too. He felt nervous, for some reason.

Suddenly, it hit him - Alice was _pretty. __Amazingly_ pretty, tall and pure, with a smile that shone in the darkness. He'd never realised it before; never even really _looked _at her before. Or talked to her. Why? And right now she wasn't even dancing with anyone, just chatting with her friends.

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to be brave. To be brave enough to just walk over there, and take her hand, and maybe, just maybe, ask her for…

"Joe?"

He jumped. It was Charles. "What?"

"We're gonna go and grab some food. Wanna come?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Coming."

Joe glanced over his shoulder one last time, and saw Alice smile again at something one of her friends had said.

Her skin was glowing.

* * *

><p>Outside, in the tunnel, everything was glowing.<p>

Inside, in the egg, it was dark and warm.

That was his first memory: the darkness. The warmth. The feel of his limbs all crushed up against one another, pressing against the slimy walls of the egg. Hydrogen-rich fluid swirled in and out of new lungs. Tiny hearts beat in unison. Gradually, he became more and more aware of his surroundings – and with that awareness came the knowledge that he was something. That he was here. That he was _alive._

His first thought was that he was trapped (not a very nice first thought, but one that was appropriately geared towards survival). His legs began kicking against the wall of the egg, slipping against the smooth surface. Muscles tensed for the first time. They worked well. His fingers twitched reflexively.

_/need_

_/out_

The egg began to shudder – just one of hundreds that filled the floor of the birthing chamber. They were arranged in a square grid, each one about a metre tall, sitting upright in a bed of watery nutrients. Glowing crystals in the walls bathed the cave in soft blue light, pulsing regularly with a slow, deep beat. He kicked harder; scrabbled at the egg with his hands, twisting around in the cramped, hot space that had kept him alive for the past year. He felt the walls begin to give. And—

_Scrick! _A tiny fracture appeared in the egg's shell. Fluid began leaking out, mixing with the others on the floor of the cave. His first emotion was triumph: it spurred him on, made him stronger, a weak, soft body fuelled by a pair of newly-grown hearts. He lashed out again at his wet, round prison. _Crack. _More fractures speared across the surface. They grew and grew, splitting, widening, until he gave one last kick—

_CRACK! _Bits of eggshell skittered across the ground. The side of the egg crumbled, splitting into half-a-dozen jagged pieces. Water and slime rushed out in a wave, leaving behind a grey-skinned, curled-up body.

He lay there for a moment, exhausted – small breaths shuddering with effort. Then, slowly, he raised his head, and opened his eyes for the first time. Beautiful black eyes. He looked around curiously, trying to process what he was seeing.

Soft blue light. Egg-shaped shadows. Rippling water. The soft cries of another youngling, echoing through the cave. It was all new, yet somehow still _familiar_. He felt like he'd been here before. Like he knew what it was.

The world dimmed suddenly as a shadow fell over him. Pairs of legs splashed down into the water nearby. It was a shape, a huge dark shape, which bent down, reaching with one enormous hand – and picked him up. With that touch there was a single word.

_/Mother._

Gently, she lifted him. He turned over onto his back and stared into her face. Her aged skin was dotted with white, and her eyes were milky and grey. She hummed softly as her mouthparts opened, spreading like a fleshy six-petalled flower. It was a kind face. Slowly, delicately, she cleaned him. Her hands moved with practiced thoroughness. Pieces of egg fell to the ground. She dried his skin, and cradled him in her hands, and he shivered happily at her touch.

Then she raised a finger, and slowly touched it to his forehead. He blinked.

_/Cooper,_ she thought.

_Cooper? _he asked.

_/Cooper._

It looked like she was happy. Then she leant down again, and placed him carefully on a small platform by the side of the cave. One of his brood-mates was already there, flopping about on the stone; he'd been the second one to hatch.

The rock felt cold beneath his feet. He tapped it with his finger. It was a new feeling.

The mother watched him for a second, then walked away, still humming, delicately stepping between the dozens of silent eggs. Then – _crack! _There was another one that needed her attention. He watched her go, still adjusting to the world around him. The cave was filled with warmth. Then, slowly, he managed to waddle over to the other young alien.

_/Cooper! _he thought brightly.

The other took a moment to respond. She looked up, but when she tried to turn, she somehow managed to fall and flop clumsily onto her back, limbs splayed in all directions.

_/…Zila! _she replied eventually.

_/Cooper_

_/Zila! _They played together in the darkness. Across the cave, the mother worked as she sang her comforting song.

It was night-time on the Homesphere, and everything was glowing.

* * *

><p>Night-time. Still night-time, in the midst of the storm. She watched him by the flickering torchlight as the wind howled outside. The sky flashed again and he held his breath, looked into her eyes, tried his hardest not to jump – but he still did when the thunder came. Just a bit.<p>

Elizabeth put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Joe, you can tell me."

It wasn't something an adult would understand, really. Only a kid. Only a kid, with your irrational fears and wide eyes and the sense that the world is so _big. _He never would've said anything if anyone else had asked. Never would have said anything, except to her.

"I'm scared of it – I'm scared of it hitting," he mumbled. "Hitting us."

"And?"

"I can imagine it, coming down, and… the house. Disappearing."

"And?" she asked again. "What else?"

"I'm scared of it hitting _me_," Joe whispered. "And you. And dad… I'm scared of _dying._"

Quiet, for a moment.

"That's a big thing to be scared of, for such a little boy. Such a _big_ boy," his mom added lightly when she saw him frown. "Everybody's scared of death, somehow. The trick is just not to think about it too much."

"I know. I don't think about it a lot, I don't," Joe insisted. "Just sometimes. Like in the car, when it's raining really hard. Or when something bad happens on the news. It's – it's hard."

"Yes, it is, especially at night with the storm all around you. But being scared of death… it's almost like being scared of the future. There's no point, most of the time."

"…Really?"

"Most people live till they're eighty years old," Elizabeth said playfully. "Like Mrs Easton, remember? You've got more chance of going to the moon than getting struck by lightning. Why be afraid of something like that? It seems like a lot of effort."

"But there's always…" Dark little fluttered around inside him. He swallowed. "There's always a _chance…_"

A crack of lightning. The crash of thunder. It seemed to be getting quieter, moving off toward the hills. His mother smiled again and it was a sad sort of smile, filled with gentleness, kneeling by his bed in the middle of the dark house. "We're all going to die, someday," she began softly. "It might be tomorrow, it might be a hundred years from now. But you can't live every day in fear of ghosts – when you're scared of death, you're scared of the future and you're scared of memories… of making memories, and of having nothing but memories left. You're scared of being alone, even when you aren't. You can't let that control you, Joe. Something your grandmother…" She trailed off.

"Mom?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Something your grandmother told me, a long time ago…" She began reciting the words, comfortingly, drowning out the rain. "_'Time will pass, and places will change. The finest flowers in spring, a shooting star, the rainbow right after a storm – all beautiful, and none can be captured and held forever. No matter how fair the flower, it will rot and fall to pieces if you never let it go. But memories will never hurt you. The flower withers, the star falls, and the rainbow fades away, but you will always remember their beauty. What I'm saying is… don't let your fears for tomorrow cloud the memories you're making today. Whatever happens, all the time you've spent with them, all the joy you've had, will still be yours.'"_

It was warm, under Joe's blankets. It felt warm as he turned her words over in his head. '_Don't let you fears for tomorrow cloud the memories you're making today.' _

One sentence couldn't fix everything, but it was a start. At least it made him think a little less.

"I don't know if that helps," Elizabeth said uncertainly. "Mom – your grandmother – said that to me for a completely different reason. But… I think it's nice. Don't you?"

Joe looked around. The shadows, the cupboard, the trees outside – they all seemed a little less threatening.

"Joe?"

He realised he'd been staring.

"Is that better?" she asked again.

He smiled. "Yeah."

"Then close your eyes. You've got school in a few hours."

Joe snuggled into the sheets and shut his eyes. He heard his mom pick up the torch from his desk, skirting her way around scattered clothes and toyboxes. She tutted to herself under her breath. "It's messy in here, Joe."

"Mmm."

"Clean it up tomorrow?"

"Mmm-kay."

"Okay. Goodnight. Sleep well."

Joe opened his eyes, just a fraction and saw her standing in the doorway.

"Hey! No peeking," she hissed. "Go to sleep."

"Sorry."

"Love you."

"Love you too," he whispered back.

The door closed. The storm passed.

Finally, Joe slept, and dreamed beautiful, human dreams.

* * *

><p>Dreams.<p>

In the tunnels beneath the Lillian cemetery, Joe stared into the creature's eyes. There was life in those eyes. Fourteen years of his life, passed in an instant. A hundred of its years, passed in a blink. Two souls joined for the briefest of moments.

Plus a few more seconds - _t__ick, tick, tick._

Suddenly, the rush of feelings and memories and thoughts just _stopped,_ a gate somewhere slamming shut. He was back in the cave; back in the present. Back home. Here. Alien breath, warm on his face. An alien hand, dangling him in the air. Scared. Not scared. Both. New knowledge, filling his mind, the realisation spreading like lightning.

_A hundred years ago, on a planet far away, Cooper slept too. __She'd keep him safe._

_Dreams._

_Beautiful, alien dreams._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> So... explanation time! Basically, back when I'd just started this story I had a couple of ideas. One was to further explore the connection between Joe and the alien. Another was this theme in Super 8 of how the past is important, but it's also important to look to the future. I decided to try and connect those ideas to one moment in the movie, and expand it into a series of scenes with the potential of being a bit more _mysterious_.

Above is the result. I HAVE LITERALLY NO IDEA IF IT'S ANY GOOD. This chapter is about four times longer than I intended and instead of a single 'dream' it turned into... I don't know. A short story collection? Each section was supposed to be much shorter - just a brief moment or feeling - but I had such a fun and _painful_ time writing that everything sort of ballooned outwards. My plan is to pick the five 'best' sections and stitch them together a bit more cohesively, into one free-flowing memory (which was my original idea; it was meant to be really profound and awesome and stuff, but at the moment it doesn't connect nearly as well as I want it to), while editing it down to ~3000 words to avoid ruining the pacing. The alien stuff also turned out a bit differently than I imagined*****. But, since I haven't updated in a while... I thought I'd better let you read the long version first.

Besides, editing can wait, at least until I've finished the movie. Sorry again for taking so long to write this thing - your regularly-scheduled Super 8 novelisation will return soon!

*****I made up many strange things about the alien society, which, if I'm being honest, I probably should have planned out a bit better, but one thing I _didn't _make up was "Cooper" - that was the alien's nickname while they were filming Super 8. It seems to fit strangely well so I thought I may as well use it.

* * *

><p><strong>BEASBeth:<strong> the lipstick collar thing is in the movie! It's in the background though. I've only watched Super 8 the whole way through once, but I must've watched each five-minute scene a dozen times over - it's really cool noticing all the little moments (and the fact that I don't hate the movie yet must mean it's pretty good :-)


	22. A Sky of Starlight, Part 1

_**Author's Note:** I decided to split this chapter in two parts, since I'm in the middle of exams at the moment and I don't know when I'll have time to write more. I did lots of reconstructing to make way for some deleted scene stuff (...plus some sequel set-up), so I think this _might_ be the first chapter with more original writing than movie writing. Hopefully it's interesting! Look out for an update soon._

_Also, a quick comment on the last scene: apparently something like it was filmed but cut from the movie early on. I can see why it was cut – it works well if their final meeting with the alien is in the tunnels – but I thought it could still be a cool addition._

* * *

><p><span>A Sky of Starlight, Part 1<span>

Two figures, standing in a tunnel underground: on the surface, they couldn't be more different. But inside… somehow, Joe felt like he understood.

Perhaps the feeling was mutual. _You can still live._

The alien let out a long, low growl that filled the air, every corner of the cave. Its nose flared; the wet membranes of its face shivered with the sound. Alice and Cary were still watching from the ground, scared. Unsure. Its breath swept past him as a warm, earthy breeze and in the darkness there was a hint of black dirty teeth. Joe felt himself bobbing in the air, arms limp by his sides. Its arm trembled.

It was… considering him.

The creature leant in closer. All Joe could see now was that bony, incredibly strange face. It filled his vision, as big as his entire body, eerily still. And then, the alien…

…opened its eyes. Opened its eyes, for the first time. Joe realised that what he'd seen before were just _shields –_ hard, milky flaps that sat like inner eyelids, protecting the creature from harm. With a wet crackle, the shields parted.

A breath.

Joe stared in wonder. The creature's eyes were _green:_ pale, greyish green. They were human eyes, almost. Eyes with stars in them. Huge, and wet, and vulnerable. Real.

Another breath, as the creature tilted its head a little and… looked at him.

Really _looked_ at him.

And that look, that connection - he could feel it. He could feel it, deep down inside. It reminded him of someone, that incredible happiness and sadness and comfort, and it nearly broke his heart. The moment might have only been five seconds but it seemed like forever.

The creature blinked. _I'll remember it forever._

Suddenly, there was a distant, mechanical tone: the sound of machinery powering up, rising, pumping steam, echoing through the tunnels. The alien turned towards the noise. It frowned, peering into the distance. Joe followed its gaze, speechless. Then the alien turned back to him. It looked at him again, eyes narrowed; harsh, curious, wondering. The noise grew louder still. The machine was almost ready.

After another long pause, the creature bent down. With one huge arm it lowered him to the ground – slowly, oddly gently – and set him down on his feet. When its fingers let go Joe's legs collapsed beneath him and he fell back, slipping in the dirt.

The alien reared up to its full height. It glanced at the tiny human on the floor of the cave (and the other human girl cowering by the wall; it would've killed her, not long ago). One last, rattling breath – then it spun around and galloped away on six limbs, disappearing around the corner of the tunnel.

When its footsteps faded, it was like it had never been there at all.

Joe lay on the ground, breathing heavily, staring at the space where the creature had been. The machine hissed and whirred, louder and louder. Cary was the first to recover and stumbled forwards, looking back and forth from Joe to the shadowy cave.

"Okay, wait a minute. _What?!_"

* * *

><p>Near the south-western corner of the Lillian Middle School grounds, Preston crept up to a section of chain-link fence and grasped the bottom edge with his hands. When he pulled, a whole corner of the wire curled upwards, creating a small gap just big enough to duck through. The fence ran around the entire school but it did have its weak spots – usually they were used to sneak out during lunchtimes. Not to sneak <em>in <em>during a military occupation.

Preston scraped through the fence, catching the wire on his shirt, and quickly took cover behind a couple of low bushes. There was a wide grass yard between the fence and the nearest classrooms, but the soldiers were all concentrated around the front of the school, and so this back area seemed relatively deserted. Nothing moved in the shadowy buildings, or amongst the carefully-trimmed trees.

Schools always looked weird at night.

_Where would they keep stuff?_ he asked himself silently. _If__ you were the military, which rooms would you use? What's secure? _

_Or which room would _Joe _use, if those guys found something... maybe __Dr. Woodward's class, that's a good guess. Check there first._

Whatever, the school wasn't that big. It would be easy enough to just run through looking for anything interesting.

* * *

><p>Inside the science block it was similarly deserted. The wide central hallway was long and dark, lined with empty lockers and towering stacks of chairs. A couple of old student projects hung from the ceiling – model bridges made of popsticks, a foam ball solar system. Preston shuffled down the corridor, stepping quietly, camera at the ready. He looked into each classroom as he passed but they doors were all locked, the classes all empty. Except—<p>

A light appeared at the far end of the hall and two air force soldiers walked into view.

Preston's eyes widened and he leapt sideways on instinct, clumsily squeezing between two stacks of chairs. He pressed his back up against the wall and tried to stay calm; he could hear the soldiers' footsteps approaching. They were holding torches and the beams swept across the corridor, flicking over the dusty floor. But he had a good hiding spot between the chairs, they hadn't seen him, they _wouldn't_ see him unless they looked directly sideways…

"What are we supposed to be looking for?" The voice was very close.

"Anything that's been moved. Anything out of place. Film, documents, that sort of thing. Check in there. The storeroom."

The soldiers stopped for a moment. There was a storeroom on the opposite side of the hall. One soldier walked up to the door and peered in through the window, torch held up to the glass. Preston could _just_ see the edge of his boots. _Don't look don't look don't look behind you—_

"Nothing. Looks normal."

"Okay, just keep an eye out for anything strange."

"What do you mean, strange? This whole week's been nothing _but _strange."

"Ha. You got that right."

The soldiers moved on. Preston froze as they walked past his view – green uniforms, rifles across their backs.

They didn't see him. He let out the breath he'd been holding. Preston waited until their footsteps disappeared around the corner, out of hearing range, then slipped out from his hiding place and continued down the corridor. Dr Woodward's classroom was just up ahead, and it was the first room he'd seen which had lights on inside. That was a good sign, he supposed. _Or bad. It's hard to tell sometimes. _As he got close to the classroom, he slowed down, staying quiet. There were voices coming from inside - two voices, it sounded like. More military. And the window was broken too, with thick shards of glass scattered all across the floor. He tip-toed around them and crouched in front of the door, then cautiously poked his head up to look through the broken window.

A half-second glimpse: the classroom, mostly empty, chairs stacked on the tables, projector set up near the front (no film playing), two soldiers directly across from him looking through a brown paper folder. A couple of lights on, another pile of folders on a bench nearby—

He ducked back down. It wouldn't be good if the soldiers noticed some curly-haired kid spying on them. The camera, though... that was probably a bit less conspicuous. He pointed it at the floor and started up the film again. At least the microphone would be able to pick up the soldiers' voices, even if he couldn't see them.

"—Operation Belttrap. That's where it all began."

"Belttrap… that was the 1960's, wasn't it?"

"50's. Deep cover operation, stealing that creature and its craft right out from under the nose of the Soviets. It crash-landed, you see, sometime in 1958. The Soviets found it, we wanted it. Against all odds, the operation actually worked."

"I never actually heard much about that. Never had the clearance."

"Well, I'm telling you now. Keeping secrets hasn't helped us one bit. Regardless, the creature was kept in A-51 till very recently, until some higher-ups decided to move it to another facility. That was two weeks ago."

"Where were they moving it?"

"The Wright-Patterson air base, probably. Can't say for sure, but that's where the train route led. Secure, out of the way, big enough to hold a few nasty secrets…"

"So the 'where' makes sense. But why? Why move it? There was always a chance it could go wrong like this."

As if to prove the soldier's point, the roof shook with a muffled concussion (a distant explosion, from the other side of town). The lights dimmed for a second.

"I don't know why. The Colonel was always very private about his work. There were some rumours about another study being done in the same area, something else that had been found – another creature, another craft, perhaps – and that the scientists in charge wanted to link the two. No way to know if that's true; it almost doesn't matter. The thing escaped, and now here we are. Trying to find it."

"…Huh. And how are we going with that?"

"What?"

"_Finding_ it."

"Well, see here… where is it."

He heard the soldiers flicking through the paper folder. Preston did a quick pan around the empty school hallway, then pointed the camera through the broken window for a few sly seconds. He realised he'd seen one of the soldiers before – it was the officer that Mr Lamb had talked to out the front of the school. The fat one.

"Here. This picture was its proposed habitat; we believe it's subterranean."

"Subterranean?"

"It lives underground."

"I know what it means - but do we have anything more specific? The town's a big area. It's going to be hard to find."

"Well, the thing is, John, we're not going after it this time. You know how well that always goes – instead, we're waiting for _it_ to come to _us."_

"And how, exactly, are you gonna make it do that?"

Another pause as they turned the pages in the folder. "…These cubes. It wants to escape, but it needs the cubes to make its ship. We've got trucks full of the things all up and down main street, and the whole area's packed with firepower. We're hoping that Argus will take the bait so we can recapture it."

"Who's in charge of that operation?"

"One of Nelec's lackeys. I've been trying to piece everything together, but no one's really talking now that Nelec's gone. You, me, we'll all been kept in the dark. I heard there was some activity near the cemetery – houses caving in, ground sinking, that kind of thing – who knows, but maybe it's 'cause something's been digging."

"The cemetery… that would definitely be… fitting."

Instantly Preston's mind swept into action. _The cemetery. That's where Joe went. It must be, if he was looking for Alice. _He looked up again; the soldiers were still talking. _Have to be quick, they're probably there already. But it would be great to get some of those important-looking folders… would be great to…_

His eyes settled on the fire alarm trigger sitting on the wall beside him: _'In case of emergency, break glass'_, it said, above a big red button (of _course _they'd put an alarm near the chemistry classes). About a dozen different reasons of why it would or wouldn't work as a distraction ran through his head. _Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. Maybe you shouldn't hit the fire alarm at all because that's breaking the rules and you really really shouldn't break the rules— _But he was past being scared, after everything that had happened. There wasn't time to think about it.

He raised his fist and hit the button. It hurt. Glass tinkled to the floor.

_AWOOOOoooooOOOOOooooOOOOOooooo! _

The fire alarm siren went off LOUD, ringing from loudspeakers in every single class – a painful, echoing sound. Preston took cover across the hall and snuck a peek at the two soldiers. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were looking around surprised and pointing—

* * *

><p>Captain Rhodes looked up. He had to shout over the noise. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"<p>

"FIRE ALARM, I THINK!" The lieutenant pointed at a speaker in the corner, vibrating with energy.

"_Dammit._" Rhodes cursed. On top of all the _other_ problems he'd had to deal with tonight… well, it was pretty likely that something actually was on fire. "WE'D BETTER CHECK IT OUT! COME ON! TAKE THE DOCUMENTS, WE'LL PUT 'EM WITH THE OTHERS!"

"WHAT?" The lieutenant shook his head, pointing at his ear.

Rhodes gritted his teeth. He grabbed the folder, whirled around and stormed out the door, leaving the lieutenant to carry the rest of the stuff. "TAKE! ALL! THE! DOCUMENTS!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The lieutenant watched him with a slightly bemused expression. He had absolutely no idea what his superior officer had said; so he shrugged, shouldered his rifle and followed Rhodes into the corridor.

* * *

><p>Preston watched the soldiers sprint past and off down the hallway. He glanced after them; they looked annoyed. Quickly they disappeared from view and Preston ran across into Dr. Woodward's empty classroom, feeling awfully exposed in the half-light and with the siren still echoing all around. <em>WOOOOooooWOOOoooo…<em>

One of the folders was gone. But the other pile of folders was still there, lying on the workbench. Preston skidded between the desks and snatched them up, looking quickly at the cover—

** TOP SECRET  
><strong>

**Argus Project **_**(A-13)**_

**1 2 / 1 1 / 1 9 5 9**

—before putting them under his arm. Then he ran out into the corridor, back to freedom, back to the open window in the cleaner's office he'd snuck in through five minutes ago. His footsteps squeaked on the slippery floor. With the siren still going he no longer had to worry about being stealthy.

"Okay, the cemetery. How do you get from the cemetery from here? You go _south_, up the hill, down Beech Street, past the church… and that's it. Up the hill, down Beech Street, past the church…"

* * *

><p>Joe tugged on the thick rope that led up to the cemetery. It was still dangling through the hole in the middle of the groundskeeper's shed, the only way they'd seen that led out of the tunnels. It felt secure.<p>

It hadn't been too difficult to find their way back, once the threat of the alien had disappeared. The journey had been quiet as everyone thought about what'd happened. What had changed. Even Cary wasn't saying much, though Joe could tell he was bursting with questions. _Maybe that's good. I wouldn't know how to answer them. _

"You guys go up first," Joe said. He looked at Alice. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine." She smiled quickly and took the rope with both hands, then started climbing up the steep, rocky slope.

Ground level looked like a long way away, but it wasn't really that far – maybe twenty metres up. Alice kept climbing. Joe saw her arms start to shake near the top, but a few moments later, she managed to pull herself over the edge. She collapsed tiredly against the wall of the shed, breathing heavily.

Cary took the rope next. Suddenly Joe noticed that one of his hands was bandaged, bound in dirty white cloth up to his wrist.

"How long have you had that?"

Cary gave him a look. "Seriously, Joe? Like, this whole time. Two weeks. I burnt it when I set off that firecracker in Martin's locker."

"…Huh."

Cary scampered up the rope with his usual monkeylike speed; dirt and pebbles skittered away beneath his feet. Two weeks seemed like an _insanely_ long time ago. So did two hours, for that matter. Then it was Joe's turn, and, finally, he ascended out of the tunnels. He had to strain with effort at first, but as he got closer to the surface he climbed faster and faster, a last burst of energy, until Cary and Alice grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him out of the hole, onto the floor of the shed.

He closed his eyes and took a clean, fresh breath. Relief. It felt good. One final glance into the shadowy mouth of the tunnel, and he trudged out into the open air.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>They walked through the gravestones beneath a starry sky. It was quiet, with no distant gunshots or booming explosions; just their footsteps, slipping on the grass. Orange firelight glowed over the rows of darkened houses, accompanied by clouds of thick black smoke.<p>

"I never thought I'd be so _happy_ to see a cemetery," Cary said.

_Me neither_, Joe thought. _Especially this one. _Even now, in the back of his mind, he knew exactly where it was. Behind them, off to the left. The grave.

"Joe?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Where are we going?" Alice asked.

"I…" He realised he didn't know. He'd just picked a direction and started walking. He shook his head, trying to think; usually Charles did all the deciding. Tiredness was finally starting to catch up. "The water tower… we're going to the water tower. That's where its ship is. That's where it ends." It sounded oddly final: '_That's where it ends.'_

"We're going in the right direction then," Alice replied.

"Or the wrong one," Cary muttered.

They kept walking. Thinking about the past, and what had happened in the tunnel. Thinking about graves.

* * *

><p>Preston crested the hill past the church and saw the shadowy Lillian cemetery spread out before him. Trees, and grass, and benches, and gravestones, and—<p>

Three figures, walking up the path towards him. He squinted in the darkness, barely daring to believe it. _Is it them? Is it them?_

It _was_ them! He'd recognise that short, rabbity silhouette anywhere – and Joe! And Alice was there too! He grinned and started running down the hill, waving his arms wildly. "Joe! Joe! Joe!"

"…Preston?!"

"Alice! Cary!" he shouted. He couldn't _stop _shouting. Finally, he'd found them, he'd found his friends, and they were _still here_. _Alive._ Joe was smiling, Alice as well, and Preston realised he was coming in _way_ too fast and cannoned straight into Cary, who stumbled backwards and enveloped him in a fierce hug.

"Ow! What are you DOING here, Math Camp?"

"I – I wanted to find you guys. Just to make sure you weren't dead."

"Well, _thanks _for nothing. You're super late."

"I know, I just…" Preston paused. "I thought about it, and I felt like I should help." _That's what friends do. _

Joe smiled. "Thanks. I'm glad you came."

"Me too," Cary said. He stepped back. "But how did you get here?"

"Oh my _god,_ it was insane. First I had to get out of the base, through this creepy tunnel, and I caught a ride with your dad by the way—"

"My _dad_?!"

"—yeah, and we saw this wrecked bus on the road, and then I went to the school and stole some stuff, and I set off the fire alarm and everything! And I also found this…" He pulled out the camera. "I thought I should film things. You know, just for the memories. The memories and the evidence. Because this whole thing's been pretty crazy." He blinked. "Hey Alice."

"Hey."

"Are you OK?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm OK."

"…That's good." Preston suddenly realised that a few people were missing. Martin and Charles were nowhere to be seen. "Where are the others?"

Joe and Cary exchanged a glance.

"…I think we all have stories to tell," Alice said quietly.

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "We can talk on the way. Come on."

* * *

><p>"So this creature – it's an alien? From another <em>planet<em>?" Preston asked curiously.

"Yeah, I guess. That's what it said in Woodward's notes," Joe replied.

"Wow. That's amazing."

Cary shook his head. "Man, this whole thing is just insane. Aliens, military conspiracies, frickin' huge explosions, everything. It's just… man."

They approached the street corner in uneasy silence. Lillian's main street intersected just up ahead; the water tower was to the left, sandwiched between the general store and the outer walls of the steel plant. Olsen's Cameras was right across from it. Joe could almost see the tower looming above the dark rooftops. And the streets had actually been weirdly empty so far - no military patrols, no tanks, only the occasional burnt-out car. Joe could hear a bit of noise from up ahead, though, and he had an unpleasant suspicion as to why. _The water tower… I guess the air force had the same idea as us._

He wondered what Martin and Charles were doing. They were probably okay, as long as they'd stayed put and hadn't tried to do anything heroic. He could still remember Martin's scream.

"And this alien…" Preston said nervously. "It's been killing people?"

"Yeah," Alice said. "It has. Some."

"That's _incredibly _off-putting."

Alice slowed and turned to face him. "Yes. But it's different now. It was only fighting because it was scared. It didn't mean to—"

"But it was killing people! If _I'm _scared and I start killing people, I don't get an easy excuse! How do you know it 'didn't mean to?'"

"I… just know." Alice sighed. "It's hard to explain."

Cary shivered. "I really don't like it when you say that. 'Cause we were staring down its mouth twenty minutes ago, and I thought I was gonna die, like actually die, and maybe it didn't eat us because it decided its stupid spaceship was more important than dinner for once! What about that?"

"I just KNOW."

"Ugh."

Suddenly, there was a soft thump from behind them. Preston was the only one to notice it; he turned around, and immediately his eyes widened. "Hey. Guys?"

"Yeah?" Joe replied.

"…the alien. What does it look like?"

"Big, grey skin, four arms, two legs. Kind of spidery."

Preston pointed. He looked thoroughly freaked out. "So like that then?"

"I'm scared enough already," Cary hissed. "Stop kidding around."

"I'm really, really not."

They turned around.

It was _there_. It was right there, in the middle of the street. A familiar, dark shape.

Cary nearly jumped out of his skin. "Holy—"

It was so unexpected that it didn't feel real. The alien was paused mid-leap, a few metres away, as if it was just passing by – like it had run into them by chance, crossing the road. It wasn't moving. Just… looking. Head turned towards them.

"Joe what it is _doing here_?" Cary hissed.

Joe didn't know. But without missing a beat, Preston pulled out his camera. _Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh— _the creature was so huge, and weird, and scary, definitely scary, and he hadn't really known what to expect but this was _way_ different from anything in Star Wars. His hands fumbled with the lens as he focused on the looming shape. The camera whirred softly. He could barely think, it was incredible. _You have to film it. You have to make sure you can tell people, _show _people—_

The alien just stood there, beneath the flickering streetlights, as if it wasn't sure what to do.

Alice stepped forwards, breaking the stillness.

"It's going to eat her!" Cary blurted out. He was still terrified, torn between running and staying.

"It's not," Joe murmured. "It won't." Then, he noticed that Alice was _smiling_. She stared up at the alien's face, fifteen feet distant. Happy.

"What? She's happy?! She's happy it's going to eat her?"

"I think…" Alice began. "I think it wants to say goodbye."

"_WHAT?!" _Cary shouted.

Alice stepped forward again. Preston kept filming. The alien waited, still motionless. It was hard to tell what it was thinking. She reached out a hand, about to touch it—

The creature jumped away, blindingly fast. It leapt onto the nearest rooftop in a gust of wind and shadows. _Thump! _Alice stumbled backwards, nearly falling.

It regarded them for a moment from the rooftop, looking over its shoulder.

Then it bounded away, and it was gone.

Preston kept recording the empty roof for a moment, then slowly lowered the camera. He looked stunned. So did Cary. For some reason, Joe felt like it _was_ a goodbye – that he might never see the creature again. He didn't know if that was good, or if it the world had somehow lost a spark.

"Guys. Look." Alice pointed back up the road, towards the main street of town. "Something's happening. We have to hurry."

Something _was_ happening, and it was the weirdest thing.

Everything was starting to fly.


	23. A Sky of Starlight, Part 2

_Author's Note: When I first started this story two years ago, it was basically written as a Christmas present for someone – I didn't really have intentions to go through the whole movie._

_GUESS WHAT? I GOT THROUGH THE WHOLE MOVIE._

_It's been a fun journey, despite far too many late-night edit sessions. It's also been satisfying to write, especially when you really nail that certain scene or feeling. I like to think that _A Sky of Starlight_ turned out quite well – a bit wordy and pretentious in spots, and with total disregard for proper use of commas, but overall it's pretty cool. The deleted scene stuff was a bit troublesome occasionally but hopefully it resulted in some good additions._

_While this is the last 'proper' chapter, there's at least two more to come (one you can probably guess about; I hope the other is a surprise!). And thanks as always to all of my readers and everyone who's left a review – I'm not kidding when I say that it brightens my day. It's awesome to know that people all over the world can get enjoyment out of my scribblings._

_Have fun reading!_

* * *

><p><span>A Sky of Starlight, Part 2<span>

Down the street, at the intersection, a hubcap floated gracefully through the air.. A metal barrel flew after it, tumbling and twisting irregularly like it was being dragged by an invisible force - spinning end-over-end, glinting in the streetlights.

"What is _happening_?" Preston asked, astonished.

"I don't know." Joe started running. There wasn't much time.

"What about the soldiers?" Cary hissed.

"They've got bigger things to worry about."

They ran up the street, Joe and Alice leading the way. A group of half a dozen soldiers was standing guard at the intersection, gathered around an armoured personnel carrier. They weren't paying much attention though; just staring up into the sky, at the objects flying strangely through the air. Joe ran straight through, past the rumbling APC and the soldiers barely gave them a second glance. As they passed, a white Lillian council garbage can started rattling on its supports; with a metallic jerk, the lid sailed weightlessly off into the night, quickly followed by the dented can.

They reached the intersection, turned onto the main street, and stopped.

They looked around slowly, squinting at the strangeness. Cary twitched as somebody's lamp suddenly sailed by his head. It was flickering on and off, still buzzing with electrical static. Preston tried to get as much as he could with the video camera. Joe and Alice stared up the street – past the old bus terminal, the PennWay pharmacy, and Olsen's cameras, and the tiny RC toy shop, and the jewellers, and the two-storey brown brick grocery store – places they'd walked past hundreds of times, now utterly unfamiliar. The road itself was covered in debris, almost completely blocked. Tipped-over benches, parking meters, chairs, bikes, crates and boxes, electrical appliances, sheets of damp newspaper… almost like a mini-tornado had torn straight through.

And above it all, a steady stream of objects was soaring through the air. Joe could see a television, an arcade machine, a traffic light, even a child's red push-wagon. Everything was being plucked from wherever it lay, pulled at different speeds and in different patterns but all towards the same destination: the Lillian town water tower. The tower loomed tall fifty metres away on the side of the road by the grocery store, and the huge metal water tank was absolutely _covered_ in stuff. The objects were bulleting towards the top and sticking there, forming a single dense mass.

They walked forwards, breathless. Cary spun around as he tried to take it all in. Joe realised that everything flying _was _metallic – if it was loose and made of metal, it was being dragged into the sky. The tank was gradually increasing in size as it was enveloped in a layer of TVs, silverware, mangled bicycles, their wheels still slowly spinning. Another twenty or so soldiers were scattered along the footpaths and they were yelling in confusion, looking around, pointing their guns at whatever was floating past. A couple had to duck as a bedframe whizzed over their heads.

Then CRASH! The windows of Olsen's cameras exploded outwards into a million shards of glass. Stereos and camera equipment tumbled out and streamed up toward the water tower. The soldiers by the window screamed, shielding their heads, and the windows of Cathy's diner shattered a moment later as an entire stove burst through. Glass scattered across the street.

"Hey!" One of the soldiers shouted as his rifle was torn from his grip, rising up to join the tower. Another soldier felt his rifle twitch and gripped it tightly, started yelling in panic as he was dragged along after it, knees scraping on the asphalt. "AAAH!" The rifle soared upwards and his boots left the ground and he held on until he was five metres up, then finally let go, legs kicking, falling to the earth with a heavy crunch. A few of the other soldiers ran over to help. Then a dozen car horns started beeping, adding to the chaos. Joe and the others looked across the street at Izzy's caryard. The cars were all lined up in rows, but every single headlight and indicator was flickering on and off, their horns beeping randomly in an unpleasant cacophony of sound. One car, a red Dodge, rocked back and forth on its wheels. Then, somehow, it tilted back, rising slowly off the ground, spinning higher and higher. Eerily weightless.

_BAM! BAM!_ A sound like a gunshot. They whirled around and saw the army's big red cargo trucks parked along the road behind them. With another huge _bang_ the doors of the first truck blew open and—

Ten thousand white cubes poured out of it. They moved like an angry swarm of bees, soldiers leaping out of the way as the cubes zipped past.

"Look out!" Cary yelled.

"Get down, get down!"

The four of them it the deck, covering their heads. More of the cargo containers burst open, releasing their own cubes until there must have been millions of them swarming towards the water tower. The sound was like a million birds all flapping in unison. Joe looked up cautiously. The cubes seemed to be flowing in patterns, forming long, spiralling streams that circled round the tower – they were quickly joining the mass of metal, slotting into place amongst the layers of debris. As they assembled they lost their dirty white colour and became a shining, metallic grey. One stream of cubes was attaching from the top as a complex silvery spire. Up and down the street, soldiers crouched amongst the wreckage, and two heavy tanks had their cannons pointed straight at it, ready to fire.

They stood up as the air cleared, all staring at the water tower. Wispy strands of cubes kept churning through the sky. Gradually, clear shapes began to form – some of the cubes made a thin, curving body, and others formed jagged struts and plates, and as the parts hovered and clicked together it seemed to make some kind of… starfish? Five odd crescent shapes, attached symmetrically to the top of the tower.

"What is he doing?" Cary asked.

Joe realised what was happening and grinned. "...He's making a model."

Again and again pieces flew overhead. Alice looked on, mesmerised, while Preston held the camera. Bright blue light shone from the craft's sides as something inside began powering up.

Then, Joe heard the sound of an engine. A car engine. He looked down the street for a moment to where a small army jeep was making its way through the wreckage, around the gathered tanks and soldiers. The jeep pulled to a stop. A familiar figure stepped out.

Joe couldn't believe his eyes. He squinted, trying to see through the glare of the headlights.

_Dad?_

Jack Lamb glanced briefly at the spectacle occurring above – the huge silver vessel that was assembling itself on the water tower. The he looked down the street, and he saw his son.

Surprise, relief... words didn't cover it. Joe stared, and swallowed, and Alice did too, and then they were _both _stunned as Jack went around the side of jeep and helped Louis Dainard out.

Joe and Alice exchanged a quick, nervous glance. Cary stepped back, watching from a distance.

Twenty metres away, the two men moved through the debris. A typewriter tumbled past them on its way to the tower. If they were surprised by the soldiers, by the activity all around them, they didn't show it - they just kept walking, focused only on their children. Joe took a deep breath and walked forwards. Alice followed a moment later.

So close.

* * *

><p>Jack Lamb got there first. He stopped in front of his son, a look of concern and utter relief on his face. He grabbed Joe's shoulders and looked into his eyes, taking in the scrapes and the wounds and the dirt. He looked tired, exhausted... like he'd been through hell. <em>He probably has.<em>

_But he's okay. We both are. That's all that matters_

Joe looked up at his father, and Jack threw his arms around his son. He held on tight, tight enough to never let go. Joe waited a moment, then hugged him back, staring tearfully up at the starry night sky.

"I got you," Jack whispered fiercely. "I got you." He sniffed, closing his eyes. Joe did too, trying to be strong.

You have to support each other, when there's only two of you left in the world.

* * *

><p>Alice watched them for a moment, then glanced uncertainly at her father. He was covered in bruises, cuts, with bloodstains on his shirt. He walked forwards slowly, just... looking at her, and Alice wasn't sure what to do. What she <em>should <em>do.

He stopped. And then, as she looked at him, she saw that he was sorry. She saw it in his sad, wounded face.

That he was sorry.

For now, that was enough. So she held out a hand…

…and Louis took it, and pulled her into his chest, and they hugged each other desperately. Closely. Recovering feelings that had been hidden inside for far too long. Alice laid her head on his shoulder, and his on hers, and they stood together as father and daughter, blocking out the world. Trying to make things right.

* * *

><p>On top of the water tower the ship continued to expand. It was a delicate silver wonder, nearly fully formed. When Joe opened his eyes moments later, he saw another wonder crawling in the shadows - it had six limbs, dark and grey, and it was getting ready to fly.<p>

He smiled. Everything was going to work out. Everything they'd been through, all the secrets and the fear and the pain…

…everything that _it_ had been through. It was almost over.

He held onto his dad, and watched the alien start to climb. Alice held her father too. Until—

* * *

><p>Sergeant Javik was a soldier. He, like the rest of his squadmates, was staring with a mixture of shock and fear at the glittering contraption forming on top of the water tower. No one was really sure what to do. He'd been told that they had to take down some kind of creature (he'd seen what the creature had done to certain people; it wasn't pretty), but he hadn't actually seen any <em>creatures<em> yet. Only this… thing, whatever this was. Only the ship.

Maybe the ship was dangerous, maybe it wasn't, but as a soldier that made him extremely nervous. He glanced up at the water tower again. Something like that could probably shoot back if it wanted to. _Hard. _He'd never seen anything like it. Basically, Sergeant Javik didn't like dealing with unknowns, or the fact that gravity had been turned upside-down.

He gripped his rifle tightly. The creature would apparently be appearing soon. _Where is it, where is it…_

Another discarded bicycle whirled past his head. He followed its flight, watching as it passed over the rooftops.

He saw something moving in the distance.

"Look! There!"

Something was climbing up the water tower. A huge, monstrous shape, gripping the tower's legs like a spider. One by one, the soldiers turned to watch, some of them stumbling back in awe, some of them raising their guns as the bright blue light shone down from the ship up above—

"Execute the containment order!" a voice ordered. "Fire! NOW!"

* * *

><p><em>CRACK-<em>CRACK<em>-_CRACK_-_CRACK_-_CRACK_! _Up and down the street, fifty carbines fired in unison. Bullets sparked in the darkness, ricocheting off the water tower and the alien's ship. The alien immediately swung into cover, dropping from the tower but a couple of shots caught it as it fell and it roared furiously in anguish.

Joe took a moment to react, dazed by the sudden violence. _What are they doing? What are they doing?_ White-hot muzzle flashes speared into the night. The sound was utterly deafening, echoing from the ruined shopfronts. Shell casings littered the ground. Alice and Louis staggered back together and Jack looked around and quickly took Joe's arm, started dragging him into cover.

"No! Dad, I have to—"

_Crack-crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack!_

_ "Where is it?"_

_ "Reloading!"_

_ "Tank one, tank two, you have permission to attack. Take out that tower."_

A second later the two army tanks fired their main cannons. Twin tongues of flame lashed at the sky followed by a huge concussion, shattering every window that was still intact. Explosions burst against the water tower's sides and metal twisted red-hot from the impact. The tower shuddered.

"HOLY SHIT!" Cary shouted. "Preston did you _see_ that?!"

"Of course I saw it! Aaah!" One of the nearby soldiers fired. Preston covered his ears and slid down behind a bench. He panned the camera over the street, capturing the tower and the tanks and the legion of soldiers. Despite everything, it was hard not to imagine Charles saying 'Production value!'

Joe whirled around, looking for something, anything he could do. It was hard to think with all the soldiers around, they were all still shooting and it was just so LOUD—

"Joe, come on! Listen to me!" Jack shouted.

"Just wait! Please!"

Beneath the tower, the alien leapt up and began to climb again. It went quickly, keeping to the shadows, trying to stay out of the line of fire. The soldiers swept their rifles up and down the tower's length, blanketing it in ammunition. The alien roared with fury.

_ "Keep shooting!"_

_ "Don't let it get to the top!"_

_"Tank one, tank two, ready to—"_

The tank cannons boomed again. Another pair of explosions rocked against the tower, searingly bright. One of its supports jerked sideways and the alien dropped a couple of metres, exposed, hanging from one arm. Alice was shivering, unable to do anything and Louis held his daughter amidst the chaos, shielding her with his body.

"_Fire!"_

"NO!" Alice screamed.

The alien leapt sideways and took cover with a moment to spare. The soldiers moved forward, closing in.

"No! You can't! You can't kill him!" Alice whirled around in frustration. None of the soldiers were listening. Desperately, she looked up to where the creature was pinned down, tried to think as hard as she could, trying to make a connection with it like the one she'd felt in the tunnels. _"_Please! We're NOT ALL LIKE THIS!"

_We're not all like this..._

Suddenly, Alice pushed forwards, wriggling out of her dad's grip. Louis reached out after her.

"Ally, don't!"

She dodged his arm and ran off towards the tower. _I'm sorry, dad. But I have to._

* * *

><p>Joe ducked down while the guns kept firing. Then he saw Alice charge past and immediately, he knew what she was planning to do. He turned to his dad quickly and murmured, "I'll be back. I promise."<p>

Jack frowned. "…what?"

But Joe was already gone.

* * *

><p>They ran forth together, sprinting through the soldiers, past the jeeps and the tanks and the shattered glass and wreckage. There wasn't time to think about whether it was a good idea, only time to breathe and run. Alice was out in front. Joe chased after her. She tripped on someone's discarded backpack, got to her feet. Ducked sideways as another explosion boomed from above.<p>

"Stop!" she shouted. "Hey! STOP!" She waved her arms above her head. Some of the soldiers looked at her curiously before turning back to the battle. But as she and Joe got closer to the water tower fence, they began to pay more attention.

"Hey, you two! Stay back!"

_Crack! Crack-crack-crack!_

The alien was still hanging half-way up to its ship. Tracer rounds thumped into the metal, ricocheting off in every direction, keeping it pinned down. Bullets flew every which way. One of the soldiers tried to stop them as they sprinted past, but Joe pushed through and slipped out of his grip. He looked over his shoulder and his heart nearly froze – from here, it looked like half the air force was firing right at_ them_. But of course, that was the point. Soon, he and Alice reached the fence and they pressed up against it, standing at the base of the tower. Huge holes had been torn in the wire by tank blasts. Concrete cinders cracked beneath their feet.

"Watch your fire, there's a couple of kids up here!"

"Get back!"

A lucky shot caught the creature in its leg. It bellowed, let go on reflex and fell back to earth. It landed heavily, thumping against the ground. A couple of soldiers tracked it and kept shooting, bullets arcing through the night_— _until a shot whizzed _right past_ Alice's head, hitting the leg of the tower behind her. She flinched.

"CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!"

Suddenly, there was silence. The last echoes of gunfire soon faded from the hills.

Joe and Alice turned to face the gathered soldiers.

The view was… scary as hell. Joe swallowed. He felt the metal fence digging into his back; heard the alien groan softly as it lay on the ground behind them, nursing its injured leg. For a moment, the world was frozen. Balanced on a knife-edge.

Then the closest soldier stepped forward. He was young, thin, with dark hair and deep brown skin. Carefully, he took off his helmet.

"…what do you think you're doing?" the soldier asked softly.

"We're protecting it," Alice said. Still a little shaken.

"Why?"

"Because it deserves to be protected."

A few of the air force men were talking urgently in the background. Joe had a horrible feeling about what they were discussing.

"You _know_ this thing?" the soldier asked.

"Yes. And it doesn't deserve to die. It doesn't deserve to be captured."

"But it's killed a whole squad of our—"

"Everything it's done, it's done because it's scared," Alice said firmly. "Because it just wants to _go home. _Everything that's happened is because some stupid people in charge just didn't want to understand." She stood up straighter, her eyes hard. "And if you want to kill it, you'll have to go through me."

"Through us," Joe said quietly.

The soldier paused. He looked back at the assembled platoon of men, at the tanks and APCs lining the street. "Well, you're certainly very brave."

Joe wondered about that. Maybe they were just stupid. He told himself to breathe; there were lots of guns, pointed right at them (or at the alien crouching somewhere behind). The soldier was about to say something else when a superior officer called out from the rear.

"Sergeant Javik?"

"Sir?"

"Get them out of the way."

"…What do you mean, sir?"

"I meant exactly what I said. We have orders to apprehend the creature at all costs. That order also applies to you."

Above them, the spaceship hummed, finally ready to take off. Behind Joe and Alice, the alien started to stir. It was breathing heavily, rustling as it moved.

Sergeant Javik turned back to them. "Maybe… maybe you're right," he began. "Maybe this thing is friendly."

"It _is_," Alice repeated.

"But we can't let it go. We have orders—"

"So is that what you're gonna do? Blindly follow orders for the rest of your life?"

"No," he said calmly, "But—"

"Sergeant Javik?"

"…Sir?"

"Shoot them."

"What?"

"Either get them out of the way, or shoot them. The creature is moving. And they look like they aren't getting out of the way."

"Sir, we can't just—"

"The lives of two children are _more_ than worth the opportunity this creature provides! You have your orders."

That was bad. Real bad. Alice looked around, eyes darting back and forth; heart pounding, starting to panic. Joe glanced behind him, and saw one alien eye staring balefully at them from the shadows. Somewhere, there was the sound of a safety catch being flicked off.

Sergeant Javik held out a hand, and took a small step towards them. "You have to move away."

"No," Alice whispered.

Joe saw his dad running through the crowd, coming straight for them. Louis was there too, pushing soldiers aside as they attempted to bar his way. _No, dad, don't do something stupid. Not now. We'll get out of this. We'll get out of this._

_ Will we?_

"Sergeant Javik? Shoot them."

"I can't." The sergeant was sweating, one hand on his rifle.

"We have to get the creature, sergeant. At all costs. It killed Colonel Nelec. It killed Overmeyer. It's the most valuable thing this country owns. SHOOT THEM."

"I… I can't, sir."

There was a long, ominous pause.

Then several things happened at once.

The creature moved.

Javik swore, and closed his eyes.

The men on either side of him raised their guns.

Jack and Louis shouted in horror.

Alice ducked.

Joe pushed her sideways.

The streetlights flickered, bright and dark.

And then every single person had their rifle torn from their hands.

The air force men milled about in confusion as the rifles zipped up into the sky, a few of them firing harmlessly at the stars. Then the closest tank began shaking and rumbling and suddenly – _BAM!_ – it flipped over onto its roof, throwing debris everywhere, pushed by an incredible force. Its main cannon misfired straight into a nearby jeep, engulfing it in a cloud of fire. Soldiers sprinted away to safety. The second tank soon followed it, while the rifles swarmed downward and joined the thick layer of metal already surrounding the water tower.

Joe turned around, and saw the alien climb. Unimpeded, it reached the top in a matter of seconds, perching for a moment in the shadows. It clung to the underside of the tank and, gracefully, it swung up onto the side, climbing still further. The five main prongs of the ship were now complete, covered in sleek angular metal and glowing blue vents. Every surface curved to a sharply tapered point. Above them, four shorter prongs emerged from the central body, appearing almost like claws. The alien was climbing up the ship's body now, towards an open door at the top. Warm blue light emerged from within.

"Joe?" His dad's voice, behind him.

"Yeah?"

"Don't _ever_ do that again."

"I won't." He hugged his father again, really meaning it. A few metres away he saw Alice do the same. Joe held on and closed his eyes as they gradually filled with tears.

In the doorway, the alien paused. It looked back for the briefest of moments, then disappeared into the ship. The doors slid shut behind it.

_Thank you._

They walked away from the tower, back to safety as the top section of the ship started to rotate. The four shorter claws locked into place. Now streams of yellow light were shining from their ends. Engines, maybe. Other plates were tilting and expanding outwards. The ship echoed with a distant, rising whine. The soldiers could only watch as the engines powered up.

Suddenly, Joe felt something move in his pocket. He opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Then he reached down, and—

He barely caught it as it flew upwards, one hand held tight around the chain. It pulled up towards the water tower, suspended in the air. Wanting to go.

The silver locket.

He held it there, standing in the street, arm stretched out to the sky.

Joe knew what it meant. For a long moment, he stared at the locket, glinting silver against the ship behind. Jack stood close by his son, watching the tiny, floating shape. He understood.

It was always so hard - letting go.

So, so hard.

_I have to. I know I have to._

_ But I can't. I can't, or I don't want to. I can't bring myself to do it. Not now, not ever._

_ I don't want her to… to…_

_ Click!_

Pulled by the invisible force, the locked popped open.

Inside, there was a picture of her.

A photograph. Beautiful, black and white, a baby in her arms. Joe looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and in that moment she almost seemed to be looking back. He took a quiet, sobbing breath. He couldn't bear it.

_I wish you were still here. I wish I could hear you laughing. I wish I could see you when I come home from school. I wish I could remember how our house smelt of happiness, and how it felt, and how… how you were just _there.

_ But I can't._

_ It's hard, isn't it?_

Behind him, Jack's eyes suddenly welled with tears. Alice was crying too, face streaked with dirt and grime. Watching. Knowing. Feeling. Finally, Jack reached out, and put a hand on his son's shoulder.

That was all Joe needed, really. That quiet strength from the ones you love. The feeling that no matter what's happened, things will be alright. Because they will be, if you're strong.

He opened his fingers.

And let go.

The locket flew across the sky, joining the millions of stars above. It grew smaller and smaller, floating gently, until it clinked against an empty spot on the side of the water tower.

And that was it. The tank couldn't stand the pressure anymore. The entire thing just _imploded_, crushed to nothing, and a huge firework of water burst outwards with a roar. It showered across the street as thick, heavy rain, coating everything in a layer of dampness. More water continued to fall as the ship, finally...

...started to rise. Its launch engines fired, blue rays of energy shimmering on its five main arms, spearing from the end of its body like a miniature white sun. Joe watched it climb – majestically, slowly at first, the wind from its engines ruffling his hair with a stiff, crackling breeze. Jack watched it too, with an arm around his son's shoulders. Alice and Louis stepped forwards, standing beside them. All gazing upwards.

With a groan, the ship cleared the top of the tower, pulling away from the ground. The remaining weight of the tower's legs was too much for their battered, fragile supports; the metal started to twist and buckle, tilting more and more, until with a gigantic crack the remains of the tower toppled right across the street. Soldiers jumped out of the way and sprinted for cover as several tons of steel tore through trees and power lines, crashing down onto the asphalt in a great cloud of dust. Bits of metal frame were thrown off by the impact. The remains of the crushed water tank knocked aside an entire jeep. One of the tanks was crushed by a beam a second after a soldier leapt out of the gunner's chair, and Joe and Jack staggered back from the impact.

"_Hooolyy shiiit!" _Cary mouthed, eyes wide.

The ship rose further into the sky. It was twenty metres up, then fifty, then a hundred, spinning slowly around its center. Its engines shone a pure bright blue, spitting out a static roar. They all saw it go – Alice, Jack, Louis, Joe, standing beneath its glow.

* * *

><p>Above the empty houses of a dark and empty town, the ship shines like a beacon of hope. Blue streaks trail from its engines as the vessel climbs toward the stars. It seems a shame that almost no one is there to see it amongst the deserted, midnight streets.<p>

_Almost_ no one.

Charles and Martin stagger across the firelit grass, Martin limping slowly, his arms around Charles' shoulder. They watch, amazed, while the distant light rises into the sky – Charles with his mouth half-open, and Martin, as always, like he's about to cry behind his thick lenses.

Donny's fast asleep in his battered Pontiac Catalina, parked at the top of Marlborough Hill. He's still sitting behind the wheel in a slack, drug-fuelled haze, and the rising ship is reflected on his windshield as a five-pointed star of light.

Cary grins in wonder as he sees the ship fly, its pure blue light illuminating the ground beneath it – Lillian, Ohio, Earth. The planet it's finally leaving. The wind from its engines blows his jacket out behind him and all he can do is smile, thinking about fireworks.

Preston aims the stolen camera at the distant flare of light. The shape of the spacecraft glints on the lens as a tiny, bright pinprick. He follows it with the camera as it accelerates upwards, becoming more distant with every passing moment. So many _questions._

Joe and Alice watch as the ship disappears into the sky. Their fathers stand beside them – giving them strength, holding them close, all of them looking upward as one. The wreckage of the street is now strangely peaceful, bathed in blue and white and the warm summer air.

* * *

><p>Slowly, almost unconsciously, Joe reached out and took Alice's hand.<p>

After a moment, still looking at the ship, Alice closed her fingers gently round his own. They didn't need any words. The touch was enough; the warmth, the understanding, everything they'd been through. Staring at the stars together, in a world that they were both a part of.

Alice smiled a little. Happiness mixed with sadness, and a strange sense of loss.

Eventually, Joe smiled too. It took a little bit to get there, but he realised for the first time in six long months that... that the world didn't feel so empty anymore. It didn't feel _right_, not quite. But perhaps it would, given time. Perhaps it was a new start. He knew his dad felt the same from the arm around his shoulder. In the sky, the ship was now so far away that you couldn't see the individual details – just its engines, forming a new star in the night, blazing brightly over the soldiers, and the town, and two families now joined together.

Joe Lamb watched the ship ascend into a sky of starlight, and couldn't help but feel that maybe, just _maybe_… everything would be all right.

And then, finally, the ship was gone, leaving only a whole universe of stars.


	24. The Case

_Author's Note: Do you know how hard it is to come up with the last line of a story? Here's a hint: it's REALLY FREAKING HARD. Anyway, this chapter is just a bit of fun before whatever happens next – I apologise for the whole thing being a bit nonsensical, but Charles unfortunately isn't the best at writing movie scripts._

'_But TheBox – what IS happening next?' you might ask. Well! The current plan is for one 'oh-my-gosh-it's-not-a-novelisation-anymore' chapter before real sequel stuff starts happening, probably as part of a new story. Sequel stuff. UGH IT'S SO CLOSE (and intimidating). We'll see what happens when we get there…_

* * *

><p><strong>THE CASE<strong>

* * *

><p>There's a lot you can do with a little piece of chalk. A schoolteacher might use it to present important dates in history; a child might use it to draw a game of hopscotch on the street. If you were a policeman, or a detective, you might use it to mark off the scene of a crime.<p>

Unfortunately, John Hathaway _was_ a detective, and one who'd seen far too many bodies in his time. The outline of this particular body was traced in dirty white chalk, on the floor in the middle of the hallway. The guy who'd called it in stood uncomfortably next to it, looking nervous in jeans and an old moth-eaten sweater.

Hathaway gave him a quick glance, then walked down the corridor, taking in details with a practiced, casual eye. The hall was dingy, dimly lit, lying deep in the bowels of some irrelevant office complex. Bare concrete floor. Chipped paint on the walls. The air smelled of decay and old rot (basically the usual for this area of town). The detective, in contrast, was looking smart as ever in his beige suit and fedora. His tie however was slightly askew, the result of a few too many drinks the night before.

Hathaway stopped next to the chalked figure. Sad, how a person could be reduced to a thin white line. Nothing remained but a thick splotch of blood, pooled just above the collarbone.

(The chalk outline has proportions that look like a cartoon, and the blood looks a _lot_ like ketchup. The witness also appears to be about eleven years old, but he's doing a pretty good job of looking sad.)

"This is where my friend was attacked," the witness explained quietly. Walters, his name was. Montague Walters. He was chubby, a little short, with a mop of messy brown hair.

Hathaway pulled a notebook from his breast pocket. "By who?"

"I've never seen him before." Walters looked down at the outline, still shaken. _Innocent_, Hathaway decided, or as much as anyone could be. "He looked pale_. Craaazy._ He bit my friend."

"Then what happened?"

"He was dead. And then—"

"He got up and walked away?" Hathaway interrupted.

The witness looked up, surprised. "How did you know?"

Hathaway didn't answer. But inside, he had a sinking feeling – the kind of feeling you get when your worst, most far-fetched hunch on a case looks more and more like the truth. This wasn't the first body he'd seen this past week. Unfortunately, it would be far from the last.

"Anything left behind?" the detective asked.

"Yes. This fell out of the pocket, of the attacker's pocket."

"Thank you."

Walters held out a laminated business card. Hathaway took it. _'Romero Chemical. Level 5, Building 47,' _it said. White type on a red background.

It was his first solid lead in days.

(This was first reel they filmed. The lines run into each other a bit and the editing is really choppy, but the scene does get the point across. The director says this is the best he could do without reshooting the whole lot, and no one wants to do _that_.)

* * *

><p>Romero Chemical: a huge maze-like factory complex on the outskirts of town, filled with warehouses and conveyer belts and cooling towers. The steel grey buildings blend with a darkening sky as steam whistles sound in the distance.<p>

The President's office, on the other hand, is much more welcoming – a wood-panelled room with an old, stately feel, thanks to the thick carpets, dusty armchairs and the strangely enormous lamp in the corner.

(Seriously, it's a big lamp. The office also looks quite a bit like it belongs to someone's dad.)

Detective Hathaway strode into the room with as much authority as he could muster. This case had been building for weeks now; getting stranger and stranger with every passing hour, making him question everything he knew about the world. He used to think that he understood things. The way things worked, why people did what they did.

The case had changed all that. The murders, the bodies. Everything had changed.

All he knew was that Romero Chemical was involved in some way, and that for some reason they didn't want people to find out why. Every official, every company executive he'd questioned had given the same blank responses - so now he was going straight to the top for answers.

When he entered, the President was on the phone, standing in a grey suit behind his large oak desk.

"Hello Mr. President, I'm Detective Hathaway. I'm here to discuss some urgent matters regarding your… 'chemical factory.'" He was unable to keep the disdain from his voice.

The President looked up, not seeming particularly surprised at the intrusion. "Are you referring to the recent… 'incidents?'"

"Yes, I believe I am."

"...Tell the Chairman I'll call him back." The President put the phone down with a sharp _click_ and leaned back in his chair. He gave Hathaway a sharp look. "You have three minutes."

The detective had performed interrogations in less time than that, though usually with less… important suspects. He quickly pulled out his trusty notebook and pen. "You want to tell me about those employees?"

"I was sorry to hear of their… unfortunate accident," the President began, not sounding very sorry at all.

"That was no accident!" Hathaway retorted. "Did you see the bites on their necks?"

"Are you suggesting some connection between my chemical company and those, those—"

"Those were _zombie attacks!"_

"Romero Chemical has nothing to do with any such thing," the President replied firmly.

"Then what happens in Building 47?"

The President glanced quickly to the left – but not quickly enough to escape Hathaway's gaze. He was definitely onto something. He could feel it. There was now a subtle edge in the President's voice; the kind of edge that suggested bad things might happen, if Hathaway turned the investigation in this direction.

It also suggested that this was the _right_ direction. The detective had been in similar situations before. So far, he'd been smart enough and cunning enough to always come out on top. So far.

(The President is apparently extremely bad at lying and would make a terrible poker player. It's unclear if he is the President of the United States, or just the president of Romero Chemical, or both. Let's go with both.)

Hathaway pushed on. "You wouldn't mind if I… took a look around, would you?" he asked.

"Of… course not," the President replied.

It sounded like he did mind, but Hathaway decided to take the invitation. It was time to leave anyway; he could tell when he'd hit a dead end. The detective stood up, adjusting his fedora.

"Good day to you, Mr. President."

"Good day, detective."

They shook hands. The contempt between the two men was suddenly so thick you could almost taste it. Hathaway turned and strode quickly from the room and the door slammed shut behind him.

The President picked up the phone once more. He spoke only two words into the receiver – two sinister words.

"He knows."

* * *

><p>The building was little more than a large tin shed, surrounded by an ugly barbed-wire fence. Any paint on the walls had mostly peeled away in years of wind and rain. The only visible identification was a small black '47', drawn a foot above the door.<p>

With a soft creak, the door swung open. Detective Hathaway stepped through. He paused cautiously, silhouetted in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness; after a moment he pulled out a heavy flashlight. The beam swept across the gloomy, dim space, seeming to almost get swallowed by the shadows.

Building 47 was apparently nothing but an old warehouse – dirty, cobwebbed, crowded with crates and old machinery and junk. Chemical barrels sat rusting in the corner. Nothing moved amid the thick, dusty silence.

(The detective's flashlight hits the lens for a moment, flaring brightly. Ominous music starts playing. Soft at first, getting faster.)

Hathaway walked slowly through the spooky, dark space. Faintly, he could hear a sort of growling industrial drone: the sound of the rest of the chemical factory, humming around him. It made the whole place feel oddly unsettling, an itch you couldn't scratch.

Then, a sound, quick and strange. Like... slithering. Hathaway tensed, aiming the flashlight the noise. He watched. Waited for a moment. The light cut through the thick dust in the air, falling upon an old office door.

The door was slightly ajar.

The detective was nervous, despite himself. No matter how many nightmares you'd been through – and Hathaway had been through too many for one man's lifetime – every moment of darkness was something that had to be faced anew. He'd hunted killers through places like this. Abandoned places, filled with nightmares. He's been hunted by killers, too.

Perhaps one of them was here now. Hathaway peered at the doorway, leaning closer. Was something moving, in that dark office? Was something waiting for him? Or perhaps, the detective was looking in the wrong place.

In the darkness behind Hathaway, a shadow _moved_. It was a human figure, indistinct; it crept silently towards the detective with a lopsided, animal gait. Closer, closer… Suddenly, Hathaway felt something prickle on the back of his neck. Some kind of sixth sense, a sense that had kept him alive all these years. Something was watching him. He turned around—

"AAAH!" The flashlight clattered to the floor.

The creature lunged. Hathaway stumbled backwards, his back slamming into the wall. The _thing_ attacking him was human, or it looked human, but its teeth snapped and hissed with hungry animal ferocity. Rivulets of blood ran down its face, across pallid skin and terrifying, pure white eyes. He struggled in panic, trying to push the creature away but was pinned tight against the bricks.

_It's a zombie,_ Hathaway thought distantly. _A walking corpse. They're real. _

The case, it seemed, had suddenly got a whole lot worse.

(The zombie is short, with wavy blond hair and braces. It's not a bad performance; the zombie looks seriously ferocious with its corpse-like makeup and clacking teeth. The ominous music is super-loud now, jangling and ringing over the zombie's growls.)

Hathaway kicked, panting desperately, trying to push the thing back. It had no pupils, no irises, just a blank white stare, and a mouth that dripped with spit and as it tried to bite into his flesh. He tried to get one hand to his pocket, to his gun, if only he could get to it he could shoot and kill the foul beast—

_There_. His fingers closed around the grip of the pistol. He pulled it out, finger on the trigger – the beast shrieked he pressed the barrel against its neck – but then its arm caught his wrist and knocked the gun to the ground where it skittered away across the concrete. Decaying fingers scratched at his face. All it wanted was to rip into his bones. Somehow Hathaway managed to wriggle out of its grasp and he spun around, the zombie held at arm's length, and suddenly his eyes settled upon three sharp nails sticking from a board in the wall. He grasped the zombie's shoulders and _pushed_ hard with all his strength, the zombie growling and screaming, a cacophony of horror, pushing, pushing, and with one final SHOVE—

_Splick! _Hathaway slammed the zombie against the wall, impaling its skull on the rusting set of nails. The metal pierced its skull with a sickeningly wet crack.

(Some clever editing makes it seem like the zombie really _was_ stabbed in the head. This is probably the director's favourite moment; for that extra special touch, all it required was a bottle of corn syrup, red food colouring, and some creative sound effects involving a hammer and a watermelon. It was a very sticky afternoon.)

Abruptly, the corpse lay still, pinned against the dusty concrete. A sticky string of red began to drip from its open mouth. Blood pooled on the floor as the shaken detective caught his breath.

Hathaway had seen many strange things in his time, but this was undoubtedly a first. If there truly were zombies walking this god-forsaken earth - things were even worse than he'd thought.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Hathaway sat alone in his office. The room was simple, as far as offices went; mostly bare but with a hint of messiness ('lived-in', you might say). There was a single desk, covered in papers. Certificates on the wall from when he'd been in the force, before he'd become a private eye. A few chairs for visitors.<p>

He didn't get many visitors, these days. 'Friends' were few and far between when you were in this line of work. But still… he had a few. A few people that were important that him.

_Click. Click. Click. _His finger trembled a little as he dialled the number. The encounter in the warehouse had affected him more than he wanted to admit. A moment later, the call connected, and he held the receiver up to his ear.

"Judith. It's me, your boss. I need you to buy my wife a ticket to Michigan. It's too dangerous for her here. I just love her so much."

(The detective doesn't sound very loving. He thumps the table to try and make it a bit emotional, but it feels so feeble and insincere it's probably better that he didn't. Maybe the detective didn't like that part of the story. Or maybe he was feeling a bit sick that day, and later vomited up a whole pack of Twizzlers. Who can say?)

The body in the hallway. The President's lies. Romero Chemical. Building 47. The crazy old man who'd first said the word 'zombie' to him, only two weeks ago. It all had to fit together somehow. He felt like he was close, so close to piecing it all together, figuring it all out, but all the mysteries and corpses just kept stacking up.

There was something he had to do first. Someone he had to keep safe.

* * *

><p>Dusk fell upon on the train tracks with an eerie kind of suddenness. Carriages sat silently upon the silvery, winding rails, waiting for departure, carrying their cargoes through the night. The station was quiet at this late hour. Nearly deserted, except for a few hardy travellers.<p>

(Upon closer examination, the carriages are made of plastic and about three inches high. Their paint jobs are pretty awesome though.)

On the station platform, Detective Hathaway stood opposite his wife. She was… very beautiful.

(And also fourteen.)

So beautiful that it always took his breath away no matter how many times he saw her. Rebecca Hathaway had her blond hair tied back, the way she did whenever she was worried, and her eyes were filled with emotion. Standing there, in the night, coat wrapped around her tightly, the wind racing around them both... he couldn't bear to lose her.

But he had to lose her. Just for a short while, so that he wouldn't lose her forever. He couldn't leave the case, not now. Not when he was so close. He didn't want to send her away.

But he had to. A train raced by in the background, so loud and quick they had to shout above its passing.

"I'm going to stay here and investigate!" Hathaway explained loudly. "I think it would be safer if you leave town."

Rebecca looked up at him. "John, I don't like it! This case. These murders." Behind her, someone was dialling the station's payphone.

"Well, what am I supposed to do – go to Michigan with you?"

"Mackinac Island's beautiful this time of year!"

The detective shook his head sadly. "Sweetheart, this is my job!"

"The dead, coming back to life?..." Admittedly, it was closer to the job of a priest than a detective. She swallowed. "I think you're in danger!"

"I have no choice!"

"You do have a choice! We all do!"

Hathaway knew she was right. He also knew what she would say next.

She continued, the train still roaring behind her. "John, I've never asked you to stop. I've never asked you to give up, or walk away. But I'm asking you now – _please!_ For me! Don't go back. Don't leave me!"

Strands of her hair whipped about in the wind. Detective Hathaway looked into his wife's eyes, and saw only truth there – only the woman he'd loved for so long. So far he'd managed to keep her safe, and now, she only wanted him to be safe too.

"I need to know this isn't the last time I'll see you," she pleaded. "I just love you so much!"

"I love you too!" he shouted back.

Rebecca smiled at his words. For a moment, the world felt normal again.

Then disaster struck.

(Suddenly, interrupting the sad violin, there's the sound of boys making explosion sounds. It's very enthusiastic. _Pew! KKRRRCHRK! Screeeee! _Plastic carriages are thrown clumsily through the air amid showers of sparks. _Pew! Pew! _There's an awkwardly-inserted view of flames burning on some sand. Some of the model carriages appear to be actually _on fire_. One spins slowly as it falls, like a toy spaceship being swooshed by a kid, and after a few more seconds of destruction the carriages fall to the ground – blackened and still and slightly melted, shrouded in a few strands of smoke.)

* * *

><p><strong> THE NEXT DAY<strong>

They stood alone upon the grassy hillside, staring at the crash site with haunted eyes: Hathaway and his wife, somewhat shaken but thankfully both still alive.

"I can't believe we weren't killed last night," Rebecca murmured.

Hathaway turned to her. "Okay, now you _have_ to leave town," he said firmly.

"No! I'm staying here with you." She looked determined, the steel of her resolve matching the colour of the sky.

"I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

He meant it. Rebecca gave him a fierce sort of glance, then looked down the hill at the ruined train station. "What if there are survivors down there?"

"There were no survivors! Did you see that crash?"

He pointed down the hill. They'd come out here so that they could view the wreckage, examine the aftermath of the terrible crash – and it WAS terrible. A scene of utter devastation. Hathaway still didn't know if it was connected to the case or not; if it was, his enemies had greater power than he thought. More than enough power to destroy him and those he loved.

(In the valley, past the line of trees, there appears to be a real-life train crash. It's absolutely gigantic and looks very real, with wrecked carriages scattered across an area two hundred feet in length. Metal's twisted and torn over itself, with anything around the crash site crushed by the huge force. Deep scars are torn in the grass.)

Except... maybe there were survivors. On the hillside, there was someone moving. A figure with its back to them, stumbling through the grass.

If there were any survivors, they'd definitely need help. "Excuse me, uh – sir!" the detective called out. "Were you in the wreck?"

The figure turned.

And revealed a set of bloody teeth.

Rebecca screamed, barely able to believe what she was seeing. The zombie started staggering towards them, arms held out, reaching hungrily for their bodies. Its eyes were that same unsettling white that he'd seen on the creature in Building 47 - soulless. Utterly soulless.

No survivors after all.

Hathaway quickly drew his trusty pistol. With clammy hands he held it in front of him, aiming, taking fast breaths, praying that the creature could be killed with bullets and that his aim was good and true. The zombie lurched closer, and suddenly he was overcome with an icy calm. He would survive. He would protect her.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! _

The zombie screamed a shockingly human scream, clutching at its chest, as flowers of blood bloomed upon its shirt. A moment later it fell sideways, collapsing into the long grass.

He'd killed it. Five swift shots, just like practice at the shooting range. He stared at the corpse for a moment, then holstered the pistol. Slowly, his heart began to beat normally again.

If the zombies were here, the infection had spread further than he'd thought. How far, it was impossible to tell. Every new body just made things worse. Harder to control.

Still, at at least that was one less zombie to worry about.

In the silence, Rebecca stepped forward and put her arms around his shoulders. "That settles it," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

><p>John Hathaway needed some time to think. Whenever a case got to be too much – whenever a mystery looked unsolvable – he usually took a couple of hours at home, in the office, just talking through his thoughts. That reflection often led to a slightly different way of looking at things. A new perspective could be very important.<p>

The Hathaway house sat on a quiet suburban street, surrounded by dark pine trees. The house itself seemed nice, well-kept, but with a slight sense of... sadness about it, at the same time. As he sat behind his desk, the detective leaned forwards, and pressed the 'Start' button on the tape recorder.

Slowly, he began to speak. His voice was quiet. Contemplative.

"It's been two weeks and the murders continue. This investigation is like no other. It's putting too much stress on this town – and on my marriage."

He looked off into the distance, staring at nothing. Hathaway's desk was covered in old papers and files; everything he'd collected so far related to Romero Chemical. He just needed another _lead_. Anything. In the corner of the desk was the half-empty whisky bottle that his only company on these past few nights. The bottle always felt like a good friend at the time, but not so good in the morning.

With a grimace, he took another swig, downing it in one gulp."…Could zombies be real?" he wondered out loud.

(The whisky's apple juice and he's drinking it from a jar. Don't tell anyone.)

_BRRING! _The phone rang loudly, shattering the silence. The detective quickly answered, stopping the recorder.

"Hello? This is Detective Hathaway?"

There was a short, muffled conversation, punctuated by Hathaway's slightly satisfied smile. "I'll be right over," he finished, putting the handset down. Finally! Another piece of the puzzle.

* * *

><p>It could have been any street corner in any quiet American town, except this particular corner was bustling with <em>very <em>strange activity. Military jeeps and trucks were parked along the pavement, their dark olive paint contrasting with the gentle suburban setting. Soldiers walked to and from a single house on the corner, carrying dozens of boxes and stacks of folders.

Detective Hathaway stood across the road, hands stuffed casually into his jacket pockets. Across from him was a soldier – young, in an ill-fitting green uniform, with the arrow-straight posture drilled into you after a few years of service.

The soldier was an old friend, one of the few he had left. His name was Joe. Joseph DeWitt. Last time they'd met, it had been in vastly different circumstances – in a dodgy Chicago dive bar, when the case had just begun. It was only two months ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. Both of them had to squint in the bright afternoon sun.

"I came as soon as I could," Hathaway began. "What's happening here?"

"A military police investigation," Joe answered quietly. "It was a suicide."

"A suicide? Who was it?"

"A former Air Force officer. He called me last night. Said he had a secret that he couldn't keep any longer." Joe handed him a thin manila folder.

"What's this?"

"He worked at - at Romero Chemical. He found out some things the company's been doing. After what you told me at the bar, I thought you should know."

(Officer Joe seems a bit stiff and uncomfortable and stumbles over his lines, but again, the scene gets the point across. The real soldiers in the background do at least provide some decent production value. Whatever that means.)

Hathaway opened the file, flicked through a couple of pages. "…It says he worked for Dr. Peter Braken," he muttered. 'Braken'… he swore he'd heard that name before. But where?

When he turned over the next page, he took a sharp breath. There it was. Evidence. The first concrete evidence of Romero Chemical's involvement.

"This proves it. They knew, the company _knew_." Hathaway looked up. "Thank you so much for the information."

"We just made the discovery ourselves," Joe replied cautiously. "You understand this is top secret."

"Of course."

"I would never have given you this information if we hadn't served together in Vietnam."

Hathaway nodded. "Those were hard times."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

They were hard times indeed, but hard times were often good for making friends. And sometimes, the right friend in the right place could just save your life – or crack a case wide open.

* * *

><p>Dr. Peter Braken's office was nestled deep in the Romero Chemical labs, hidden from the outside world. Of course, <em>officially<em>, the company had nothing to hide, which meant that, officially, they couldn't stop the detective from walking straight through and making a beeline for Braken's office.

Hathaway opened the door slowly and peered inside. It looked like any normal doctor's office – a few chairs, a desk, filing cabinets. A dead body lying casually on a hospital bed in the corner, covered by a blue sheet.

(I don't think that doctors' offices usually have dead bodies in them, but let's just go with it.)

On the wall was a map of the United States, dotted with strange lines and numbers. The doctor himself was working at his desk; Detective Hathaway glanced over his shoulder, then shut the door carefully behind him. "Doctor."

"Detective." The doctor nodded in greeting. He looked to be an unassuming sort of man, though perhaps a little plump; he wore a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He didn't look like a killer. Just a man who didn't know the evil he'd created.

(The doctor's hair is slicked back with an almost offensive amount of hair gel. It basically looks his skull is made of plastic.)

The detective cut straight to the chase. No more games. "I'm here to discuss your involvement with Romero Chemical?"

The doctor appeared unperturbed. Quickly, he began to explain, as if even he could sense they were running out of time. "I was the one that developed the… 'special compound' to turn all these humans into zombies. It was supposed to be used as a military weapon, but it got out of hand. So I made this antidote that will hopefully cure… all of the zombies."

Braken's voice echoed with regret. He turned, and took a fat syringe of green liquid from one of the drawers in his desk. Hathaway's eyes widened.

"That's incredible. How much have you made?"

"Just this one," the doctor said worriedly. "Would you like to help me test it on this innocent victim of my creation?"

Dr. Braken glanced at the body on the hospital bed. He pulled off the covering sheet, revealing a corpse with pallid skin and a shadowy, lined face. The man had been dead for some time.

(If you were paying attention, you might have noticed that the zombies all look extremely similar. Identical, even. They're not clones – because this is a story about zombies, not clones, although clones might be a cool idea in the future now that you mention it – but that's what happens when you have one actor who _really_ likes pretending to eat people.)

Dead for some time. Ha. Hathaway knew better than that.

Unfortunately, the doctor didn't.

The corpse sat up with shocking speed. A scream like the devil BLASTED from its mouth and it grabbed the closest piece of meat it could find – the doctor – and chomped into his shoulder, ripping off a bloody chunk of flesh. The doctor screamed too, an awful, desperate sound and Hathaway backed away, stunned. Suddenly afraid.

But he'd seen this before. He had to end it here.

Hathaway raised his pistol and fired. The sound of gunshots filled the office. The doctor was still struggling in the zombie's grip, the zombie with its jaws still locked around in his shoulder, blood pouring from the wound. _Bang! Bang! _A bright flash. One of the shots found their mark and the zombie flew back, thudding into the wall. Suddenly lifeless once more.

The zombie gave one last cough and slid limply to the floor, a single bloody hole in its forehead. The doctor turned away, breathing hard, leaning on his desk for support.

There was a soft, low growl. The doctor stood. When Hathaway saw his face, it was—

Dead. Dead skin, teeth bared, eyes filled with hunger.

Once you'd been bitten, it didn't take long for you to turn. Braken's eyes narrowed. He started stumbling towards Hathaway. The detective raised his gun again, but this time, when he pulled the trigger, it was with an air of sadness.

_Bang! Bang! _Two bullets to the heart. The doctor clutched his chest, falling back.

_Bang! _One last shot to make sure.

The doctor lay still on the ground, killed by his own creation. The green syringe of antidote lay on the floor beside him. Hathaway snatched it up, still watching the doctor nervously. He backed away, and eventually, when it was clear it was over – he lowered the pistol with a sigh. That was it. The end.

The zombie plague was done.

* * *

><p>"Honey I'm home!"<p>

Hathaway closed the front door behind him and walked down the hallway. There was no reply; Rebecca was supposed to be home, as far as he knew, but the house seemed oddly quiet. He held up the green syringe that he'd taken from Dr. Braken's office. "Good news! We found a – a cure! For the zombie infection!"

Silence. Hathaway swallowed, and felt the first hints of nervousness. Something… something was _wrong_. He could sense it.

(Suspenseful music starts playing, echoing the detective's thoughts.)

Hathaway walked down the hall, stopping before the door to the bedroom.

"Honey?"

The door was slightly open. Hathaway pushed it inwards and looked around the room. It was like he'd left it in the morning – the bed made, the lights off. Empty.

Behind the detective, something moves, accompanied by a soft, barely-audible growl. A figure stumbles down the hallway towards him. It comes into view.

And it's her.

Her face was pale, her lips blood-red. Her dress hung limply from her skeletal frame. She hissed as she walked towards him, her arms reaching for her husband. She was nearly close enough to touch—

Hathaway turned. His heart nearly froze. Rebecca stumbled into her husband, clawing at his flesh, knocking the syringe from his hands. The detective desperately pushed her away. He could barely move. His mind was on autopilot. They struggled. He fell to his knees.

They'd got to her. Somehow, they'd found her, and he hadn't been able keep her safe. With one arm he pushed her up against the wall and with the other he grasped desperately at the syringe, battling against her inhuman strength. She scratched at him. He felt weak. He didn't want to hurt her, but this creature, it _couldn't_ be her – there was nothing left of his wife in those ferocious eyes.

(The camera whips back and forth, following the struggle. It's pretty effective work.)

One of her arms caught him and his fedora tumbled from his head, falling next to the syringe. They were both struggling on the floor now and he grabbed her shoulder, keeping her back. His other hand was close to grabbing the precious antidote, so close, he could feel the plastic, and he stretched a little more and—

Yes! His fingers closed around the syringe. Rebecca screamed and hissed, still clawing at him. Instantly he jabbed the needle into her neck, injecting her with the sickly green liquid. She took one horrible, gasping breath—

And almost immediately went limp, slumping sideways. Lifeless.

Hathaway backed up against the wall. He was sobbing hysterically, operating almost on instinct as he took the pistol from his jacket pocket. With trembling hands and tear-filled eyes, he aimed the pistol at his wife's head.

Rebecca wasn't moving.

Perhaps the antidote… perhaps the antidote didn't work after all. Hathaway's mind recoiled as he thought about what he might have to do. He would be saving her, in a way. Saving her from an existence as one of those terrible monsters.

"Sorry," he whispered, pleading to a ghost. "It didn't work. I wish it worked."

Hathaway's finger tightened on the trigger.

"I tried. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

(The detective's acting is surprisingly good. He seems genuinely about to break down into miserable mess of tears.)

Hathaway prepared himself for what he was about to do.

There was one zombie left. Only one. Sitting across from him in the hallway of his home.

One left. He took a tearful breath, about to shoot.

And then, amazingly...

Rebecca lifted her head, and opened her eyes, as if waking up from a dream. She saw him there, kneeling on the carpet with the gun.

"…John?" she murmured.

It was her_. _It was really _her_. He couldn't believe it. Rebecca's eyes softened as the detective gasped in relief. The pistol dropped from his hand. They stood, scrambling towards each other and they embraced each other tightly – Hathaway crying gratefully, his wife smiling with love.

They stood there for a long, beautiful moment.

(The camera cuts between angles in rapid succession, zooming in jerkily, as if their embrace is so special IT MUST BE SEEN FROM EVERY DIRECTION. Despite everything, it doesn't ruin the moment. The music is now something out a 1940's epic romance film.)

And now it was the end. The _real_ end. As John and Rebecca Hathaway held each other in their hallway, everything was right with the world. They were both safe. The murders would stop. The zombies were gone forever.

The case was closed.

**THE END**

**A CHARLES KAZNYK PRODUCTION**

* * *

><p>It seems like the movie is finished. But then, abruptly, the black screen disappears, to reveal a boy of about fourteen sitting in a leather armchair. He's wearing a dark grey suit and tie and he sits with one leg across the other, in what he imagines is a relaxed yet sophisticated fashion. His hair is combed back in a way that seems faintly impossible. Behind him is a shelf filled with many leatherbound books, and he's holding one now, open to a page half-way through. Apparently, he hasn't leaned out yet.<p>

The music stops.

The boy looks up. He closes the book. There is a large black pipe in his mouth and now he takes it out, holding it casually in one hand. The whole charade is strangely endearing.

He addresses the camera clearly. "This has been a Charles Kaznyk production," he begins.

A pause, to allow you to digest this information.

"We had such a fun time filming this movie – 'The Case'."

Another pause.

"So much fun that I hope you pick it – for the Cleveland _International _Super 8 film festival."

Suddenly, a harsh growling noise interrupts his speech. The boy turns as—

"AHH! _God!_"

A girl leaps into frame from the left and grabs him around the shoulders, latching her teeth onto his neck in an alarmingly ferocious way. It's Rebecca Hathaway's zombie. The boy recoils, screaming as she ravages him.

Soon, he lies still. He slumps back, closing his eyes, embracing the sweet release of death.

The zombie lets go of her prey and turns to the camera. She has long blond hair and her skin is covered with pale, corpse-like makeup. The girl snarls. Her teeth are bared; they're _very_ white. Then, shockingly, she lunges at the screen and—

Dead.

Cut to black.

* * *

><p>With a slight, whispery flutter, the film reel whirrs to a stop. Six grinning faces stare at the blank projector screen.<p>

Cary is first to break the silence, and says loudly: "That was really lame guys."

Everyone turns to face him.

"I'm _kidding_, I'm kidding! Geez. You guys need to lighten—"

"Cary. Shut up."

"That was pretty good Charles," Preston murmurs. "Well done."

"Thanks… you really think so?"

Joe nods emphatically. "Yeah. It's super great."

Cary snickers. "You mean it's Super_ '8'_."

The whole room explodes with annoyed groans.

"Wow, that was terrible."

"Ugh."

"Oh my god. Don't _ever_ make a pun again."

They all glance at the screen, where the projector is throwing flickering shadows on the wall of Charles' bedroom. The words '_The Case'_ are written in orange on the film's casing.

"We made that," Martin says, almost like he can't believe it. "We _made_ that movie."

"Yeah. We totally did." Charles is smiling a really big smile. "What do you think, Alice?"

She considers her answer for a moment – somewhat critically. "I think it's pretty bad actually," she says. "Not much production value. Except for the scenes with me in them. Those are all good."

A long, horrified pause.

"…You're kidding, right?"

"Yes, of course I'm kidding Charles. The movie's amazing."

Cary sighs. "Oh, come on. How come no one gets annoyed with _her_?!"

* * *

><p><strong>THE CASE<strong>

**A Charles Kaznyk Production**

* * *

><p><strong>DIRECTED BY Charles Kaznyk<strong>

**WRITTEN BY Charles Kaznyk, Preston Mills and Joseph Lamb**

**CINEMATOGRAPHY BY Charles Kaznyk and Cary Lee**

**SOUND, MAKEUP AND SPECIAL EFFECTS BY Joseph Lamb**

**COSTUMES BY Martin's dad**

* * *

><p><strong>STARRING<strong>

**Martin Basso as Detective John Hathaway**

**Andrew Kaznyk as Witness #1**

**Preston Mills as Mr. President**

**Cary Lee as Zombies**

**Joseph Lamb as Officer Joe**

**Charles Kaznyk as Dr. Peter Braken**

**and Alice Dainard as Mrs. Rebecca Hathaway**

* * *

><p><strong>THANK YOU FOR WATCHING<strong>

(and thank you for reading)


	25. A Promise

_Author's Note: None! (For once.) Take my hand, dear reader, and together we will venture into the unknown…_

* * *

><p><span>A Promise<span>

He sat alone in a perfectly white room. White walls. White furniture. White floor. Fluorescent light shone harshly from the ceiling. It was the kind of bright, glossy white you might get in a freshly-cleaned hospital, or a science lab, the kind that made everything seem unfriendly and sterile. The room itself was almost completely bare, apart from a desk, two chairs and a door.

Joe Lamb sat at one end of the desk. Waiting.

He'd been waiting for about five minutes before the door behind him opened. Someone stepped through, their booted feet clicking on the tiles. There was the brief jingle of a set of keys; then the sound of the door being closed again. And locked.

_Click. Click. Click._

The figure walked around the other side of the desk, and sat down across from Joe. It was a military officer in an olive green uniform – air force, with a blue beret. He was middle-aged, with a round, kindly face, and brown eyes that sparkled with activity. The name on his uniform was 'Forman.'

"Hello again, Joe," Lieutenant Forman said.

Joe didn't reply. The Lieutenant smiled faintly, as if he was expecting the lack of response. "All wired up?" he asked.

Joe nodded.

"Good, good. Then let's start. Would you like anything before we begin? Some water?"

Joe shook his head.

"Okay. Then tell me… tell me about that night. Tell me what transpired on the night of June 6th." The Lieutenant leaned forwards a little. Joe thought for a moment before answering.

"That afternoon… there was a fire, in the hills around the town," he said. "It was a big one. The military had to come and help control it. In the meantime, everyone was evacuated. I was too."

"And?"

"We went to the Greenville Airbase. We were supposed to stay there until the fire was out."

"But you didn't, did you Joe?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because… because we'd left our dog locked up in the yard. Lucy. I wanted to make sure she was okay."

"Good. So you went back. Did you find Lucy?"

"Yes. I let her out."

"And then?"

"And then, I… I went back…" Joe closed his eyes.

"…and then you had an adventure, didn't you," the Lieutenant finished. His tone, previously friendly, now held a hint of menace. "You saw things. Things that might have seemed a little… strange. Things you probably shouldn't have seen. I am going to ask you questions about those things now, Joe, and I hope you remember the right answers."

Joe didn't reply.

"What did you see on the main street, Joe?"

"There was stuff… flying around. TVs. Bikes. Anything metal."

"Why were those things flying, Joe?"

"…magnetic interference," he said dully.

"Why was there magnetic interference?"

"The military was testing a weapon."

"What was the ship that you saw?"

"An experimental plane. It was carrying the weapon. The cubes were part of it."

One question after the other, with the officer leaning closer and closer over the table.

"Why did the military capture you?"

"They didn't want anyone near the weapon."

"And officially?"

"They wanted everyone away from the fire."

"What happened to the people that disappeared?"  
>"I… I don't know."<p>

"You do know," Forman said.

"I…" Joe struggled to remember the answer. "…there was a bear. A rabid bear, in the forest. It was attacking people."

"Good. Why did you go into the tunnels?"

"What tunnels?"

"The tunnels under the cemetery."

"I didn't. I found Lucy, then I saw something on the main street. So I went there."

"What did you see?"

"The flying stuff. Like before."

"Why were your friends with you?"

"There wasn't anyone with me. I was alone."

A pause. Lieutenant Forman took a deep, deep breath, and exhaled loudly in the silence. "Good," he murmured eventually. "Good good good." He said it in a kind of sing-song voice that Joe utterly despised. "One last question, Joe. What did you see?"

Joe took a breath of his own before answering. "I saw… something. Something alive. It was a friend."

"Wrong," Forman said curtly.

"Fine. Then I saw an _alien._ An alien from another planet and I'm gonna run out of here and tell everyone about it—"

"No. You aren't. Or you'll never see your friends again. There was no 'alien', Joe," the Lieutenant said warningly. "There was a monster. In fact, there was _nothing_. Nothing at all. Only a weapons test that went wrong, and that's the truth. Are we clear?"

Sitting there, in that little white room, Joe could almost believe it. The military's 'truth' had been drilled into him so many times that it almost _was _the truth. He squinted in the uncomfortably bright light, and forced himself to stay quiet. "We're clear," he said.

"Good good good." Forman pushed himself to his feet, the chair scraping on the floor. "Stand up."

Joe stood up.

"Shirt off."

Joe took off his shirt. The Lieutenant walked around the table, and peeled off the set of medical electrodes that was taped to Joe's chest. After untangling the thin wires, he placed the electrodes delicately on the table. Joe quickly put his shirt back on. His chest felt… tingly, from where the pads had stuck to his skin.

The Lieutenant walked to the door and unlocked it with his keys. He pushed it open. Freedom beckoned from the other side. Joe met the Lieutenant's gaze warily. For now, the officer's eyes were friendly, but Joe knew they could turn in an instant.

"Okay, Joe. Be good," Forman said pleasantly. "I'll see you again on Wednesday."

* * *

><p>Joe stepped through the door, out of the interrogation room. The hallway outside was similarly white – bright, clean, with fluorescents lining the ceiling, preventing any hint of shadow. The corridor was bare except for a couple of benches lining the left-hand wall. Sitting on the benches were his friends.<p>

Charles, Cary, Martin, Preston, and Alice. All there. They sat, hands in their pockets, looking up, down, out the single tiny window. Anywhere except each other. The air force guards in the corner didn't like them talking.

But still, they looked up as Joe walked by. Charles gave him a quick smile. "_How was it?" _he mouthed silently.

Joe shrugged. Same as always. He walked past them and sat down on the end of the bench, next to Alice. Their jeans and jackets and scuffed shoes were the only splashes of colour in the long white corridor. At the end of the hall, Lieutenant Forman poked his head out the door.

"Cary?" he called out. "You're next. Please, come in."

Cary got up, rolling his eyes. Grudgingly, he followed Forman into the room. The door locked behind him.

Joe sighed and stared out the window, to where the sky was free and blue.

* * *

><p>Joe sighed and stared out the window, to where the sky was full of stars. He turned over, tangling the sheets; he couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried.<p>

Every two days, it was the same. He'd be driven to a secure army facility in Springfield – a grim-looking thing it was, with thick brick walls and barbed-wire fences – and he would be taken past checkpoints, down a series of tunnels, and into the small white room. There, a man would ask him questions. Sometimes it was Lieutenant Forman, sometimes it was someone else, but the questions were always the same: what happened, why did it happen, where did you go, what did you see.

At first, he'd told the truth. About the alien. About everything. They hadn't liked that very much. So then, they'd told him _their_ version of the truth – what they wanted the public to hear. It had been incredibly difficult to cover the Lillian incident up, but the air force had somehow managed; now, the crazy sequence of events that had started his summer was, officially, just a military weapon research test that had gotten a little out of control. That truth was all they cared about, so they drilled it into him, day after day, until he could recite it in his sleep (in case people started asking questions).

Occasionally, they would ask him something about the alien, and how it had behaved. What it had looked like. But not often, not anymore. It was almost as if they didn't care, now that the creature was out of their grasp.

And now, one month had passed, since that incredible week of summer. Life was – relatively – back to normal. Everything was the same as always, or at least as much as it could be. The town had been cleaned up, people were back to work, the train crash that'd started everything had become distant memory. Still… it was different.

It would always be different.

* * *

><p>When he woke up the next morning, at least everything <em>felt<em> normal.

"Lucy! Where are you?"

He heard her come running through the house, panting happily. A second later her head appeared around the kitchen doorway. "Good girl! Breakfast time." Joe knelt down and poured a few cups of dog biscuits into her bowl. Lucy bounded over, claws skidding on the tiles.

"Sit!"

She sat. Her eyes were very sad. _That look might work on dad, but it doesn't work on me_, he thought.

"Shake!"

She held up her paw. They shook hands.

"Okay. You can eat."

Lucy darted forwards and started mauling her bowl, scattering biscuits all over the floor. Joe chuckled, shaking his head. Lucy ate every single meal like she'd been starved for a week. He gathered up the biscuits with his foot as she _crunch-crunch-crunched_, arranging them into a semi-neat pile.

"…Are you gonna eat something too?" his dad asked.

Joe turned around to see him standing by the door, a wry sort of smile on his face. As always, he was dressed in his dark navy police uniform; Joe was wearing jeans and a faded orange t-shirt.

"I'm not really hungry," he replied.

Jack frowned. "You should eat somethin'. Breakfast is the—"

"—most important meal of the day, I know." His dad was sometimes a bit predictable. "I'll have something later."

"Well, okay. Just make sure that you do – there's half a pizza still left in the fridge for when you get hungry."

"Sure. Thanks."

His dad paused for a minute, like he was uncertain of what he was about to ask. "They didn't… do anything to you yesterday, did they?"

"No. Just asked some questions. Like all the other times."

"Okay. As long as it's just questions, I'm fine with it. But tell me if they start doin' anything – _weird_ to you, alright? I still don't like the fact that they're talking to you alone."

Joe nodded. The first few interrogations had made his dad VERY jumpy, but the military hadn't been very accommodating of his concern. They'd been quite threatening, actually – but they had to be, to get Jack to stay quiet. As Lucy continued to eat there was an awkward kind of silence, but nowadays, it was the nice kind of awkward.

"I'm off to work then," Jack said eventually. "See you at six. Don't do anything stupid."

_You too_. "I won't."

"Are you going to be at Charles' place?"

"Yep."

"And Alice's?"

"…Maybe." He couldn't help blushing a little.

"Okay then. Have some fun." His dad smiled, patted Joe on the shoulder, then disappeared round the corner to grab his things. Joe poured a quick cup of orange juice as Lucy finished her breakfast. Immediately, she started begging for more. "No. No!" Joe whispered. He waited till he heard his dad start the car, then followed him out the front door; he stepped outside just in time to see the police car pull out the driveway and rumble off up the hill.

And outside, it was a beautiful day (most days were, this time of year). The world was utterly filled with colour – green grass, blue skies, red-brick houses, hazy warm air – and bursting with the promise of freedom. Joe walked across the yard, surrounded by birdsong and the faint smell of pine trees. It was one of those days that was the essence of summer, the kind of day you wished for when surrounded by three months of snow. He started walking up the street, to the corner next to Charles' house; he'd dumped his bike there yesterday after they'd been picked up for their questioning.

The bike was still there, lying hidden under a bush. He dragged it out, brushing it off. There was a beetle sitting on the seat and he sent it flying with a well-aimed flick.

"Joe, hey! Wait up!"

It was Charles, jogging down the street towards him. He'd obviously been mucking around outside and was already sweating hard; when he came to a stop in front of Joe, he had to bend over to catch his breath. "What's – uh – what's up?" he asked.

"Not much, just going into town," Joe replied. "What about you?"

Charles glared at him. "Oh man, don't get me started. I'm looking for my _stupid_ sister."

"Which one?"

"The stupid one, obviously."

"And that is…"

"Jen! It's Jen!" Charles nearly exploded with annoyance.

"Well, sorry, but you have three sisters and sometimes it's a bit hard to—"

"She went and destroyed my top hat AGAIN!"

"She does that a lot, doesn't she," Joe replied.

"I was going to use it for my costume and she _ruined_ it."

"I – hang on, what costume?"

"Amy Louise's birthday party," Charles explained. "It's a dress-up theme."

Joe frowned. "_I _didn't know she was having a birthday party."

"Well obviously you weren't invited. Probably because she doesn't really know you."

"And she knows _you?_"

Charles shrugged. "I was her lab partner in chemistry this year."

"Oh. I guess that works."

Charles paused to catch his breath, slowly reining in his anger. (Slowly.) His sisters, unfortunately, were nowhere to be seen. Joe looked around, wondering about the time; he was supposed to be there by ten—

"What were you gonna do in town?" Charles asked suddenly.

Joe blinked. "I'm… going to visit Alice," he said.

"…Oh." His face fell.

It was still kind of a touchy subject.

"You can come too, if you want," Joe offered. "It's not private or anything. We're not doing anything special."

"Nah, that's OK." Charles shrugged. "I have to work on some stuff for the movie anyway."

"Really? Have you heard back from the competition?"

"No, not yet. But it should be soon though, and sooner if we won anything… oh god, I hope we won something. Do you think we won something? Joe, what if they don't like it? What if they didn't even watch it? What if it was bad and all the other entries were—"

"Charles, they would've loved it," Joe interrupted. "And besides, those were some REALLY awesome zombie murders."

"God, I hope so." Charles had this way of working himself up at the drop of a (now ruined) hat, creating a storm of worries out of nothing. He was, Joe thought, probably the last calm person on the planet – some things would never change, even after meeting a real-life alien.

Then Joe glanced at the sun, rising above the trees, and realised he had to get moving. He vaulted onto his bike. "The movie was great Charles, I swear. But… sorry, but I really have to go. I'm gonna be late."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'll – I'll see you later. I hope you find your hat."

Charles nodded. "Yeah, sure. See you round."

Joe kicked off, rolling down the hill, faster and faster as he went. Charles was left standing alone on the curb, before turning back to look for his hat.

"Martin's coming over tomorrow, if you want to come too!" he called out suddenly. But Joe had already disappeared around the corner, the wind loud in his ears.

* * *

><p>He knocked on the door, then stepped back nervously to wait. He was standing on the porch of the Dainard house, in the same place he'd stood when he'd first visited more than a month ago. When he'd come to beg Alice to help them make the movie.<p>

_The movie._ It had seemed so important back then, but now it was only a footnote.

The house itself was made of dark brick and weatherboard, and sat half-way up a hill on the older edge of town. A small windchime hung next to the door, swinging gently in the breeze; its discordant notes rang out clearly across the overgrown, junk-filled yard. Scraggly bushes clung bravely to the dirt. Clearly, Louis Dainard wasn't very interested in gardening.

And it was Louis Dainard who answered the door, rubbing his eyes like he'd just woken up.

"Who is – oh. It's you."

"Hello, Mr. Dainard." Joe swallowed. Despite all that had happened, he still felt slightly nervous around Alice's father.

"Hello, Joe. Are you here to see Alice?

"Yes. If that's OK."

"I'll go get her for you. Do you want to come in?"

"No thank you. That's OK. I can wait."

"Fair enough." Mr. Dainard padded off up the stairs, disappearing out of view. Joe waited. He heard a short, muffled conversation, then light footsteps running down the hallway. Two seconds later, Alice Dainard was pressed up against the fly-screen door. Pale skin, blue eyes. Almost like a ghost.

"Hey."

"Hey." Joe's heart did a little flutter. He kind of hated it, but _liked_ it at the same time – the way he felt when he saw her.

Alice smiled. "So are you coming in, or are we going out?"

Joe looked around at the bright summer's day. "Going out?" he suggested.

"That sounds _great_. Where to?"

* * *

><p>The answer to her question was the Lillian Heritage Park. The park was located a few streets back from the town hall, and was a wide green area dotted with trees and flowers. Old oaks had been planted here in an irregular grid when the town was first founded, and now, hundreds of years later, formed a pleasant canopy of shade over the whole area. A few well-tended flowerbeds splashed the place with colour, and a series of stone paths wound gently through the trees. It was quiet. Pretty. A nice place to walk through.<p>

Especially when you had some company.

"Have you heard what the others are up to?" Alice asked, as they walked.

"Not really," Joe replied. "Cary's been doing some babysitting, I think."

"Cary's doing _babysitting_? For who? Sounds like a poor decision by that set of parents."

"I don't know. He seems to think he's quite good at it."

"…Huh."

"And Charles is doing more movie stuff," Joe continued. "He's planning the next one already. It's going to be another monster movie, obviously."

"Obviously."

"Are you… still interested in helping out?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be in it. And everyone else?"

"I don't know what they're doing, actually - I haven't seen them for a while. The military doesn't let us visit very much."

"Yeah. They don't, do they." She shrugged sarcastically. "But of course, the air force knows what's best."

It was nice, spending time with Alice like this. Not doing much, just... talking. Talking about nothing in particular. He wondered what it was called, when two people could just enjoy being with each other; when they felt like they'd known each other forever. (Well, he kinda knew what it was called, and he could imagine his friends pointing at him and making lots of embarrassing noises at the answer. Why did some things have to be so weirdly awkward?)

"What about your dad, then," Alice continued, as they skirted around a small pond. Thickets of reeds lined the banks, waving gently above the shining water. "How's that been?"

"It's been good, I guess."

"Oh, come on, you have to tell me more than _that._"

"Well, we went out to a restaurant last night? It's like… this French place. In Brookville. It's small, but it's filled with flowers and stuff, and the food's really nice. We went there with mom a lot. She loved it there."

"Do you still think about her?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

Joe thought for a moment. "I do think about her. All the time. But now… it's not as sad. It's more like remembering her, instead of wishing she was back."

"That's… nice," Alice said, searching for a better word.

"Yeah. It is."

Alice was one of the only people he could talk to about that part of his life. She was one of the only ones who really understood. Charles asked about it sometimes, and there was his dad, of course, but Alice… she wasn't _afraid_ to ask. That made it better, somehow.

"What about your mom?" Joe said. "She's still around somewhere, right?"

"Yeah. She is. I don't know where, though. She ran off when I was still in pre-school." Alice didn't sound particularly torn up about it.

"How old were you?"

"Six."

"That's… not nice."

"No. But it was so long ago now, that – that I'm almost used to it." Alice laughed, a little strangely. "Look at us. It's sort of weird, the things we talk about. It's almost like we're _trying_ to be miserable."

"I'm not miserable, though," Joe said. "Are you?"

"No. No I'm not. I'm pretty happy, actually." She smiled beautifully, and brushed her hair behind her ear. She held out her hand, and Joe took it. Joe, understandably, was pretty happy too.

They walked.

"So I saw this movie the other day," Joe began. "It was called The Life of Brian, and it was REALLY good. It's a bit hard to explain, but basically, it follows a guy who was born on the same day as Jesus, but he was also born _next door_, so people keep mistaking him for Jesus. It sounds weird, but it's super funny. It's" – he tried to remember the word Charles had used – "it's a 'religious satire.' It makes fun of all that stuff, but not in a mean way. And it was made in England too. And there's a bunch of women playing men, and they put on funny voices. As I said, it's weird."

"That's… interesting?"

"It totally is. Anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted to go and see it. With me. Maybe. It's really good. Only if you want to though." Joe cursed himself for doing the stumbling-over-words thing he always did whenever he asked Alice to do something.

"Well, let me check my busy summer break schedule first." Alice picked a flower, and pretended to examine it closely. "Nope, nothing on! I guess I can go."

"Really? Cool. The movie's rated R but there's nothing bad in it, and Charles has a friend at the theatre who can get us in."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows.

"He works there. So… Friday?"

"Friday's good. Thanks for asking, Joe."

"No problem," Joe replied. _Thanks for saying yes._

They walked further up the path, still holding hands. They were near the top of the hill, now; if the trees hadn't been there, there would've been an amazing view of the town. The Heritage Park was a beautiful place when the flowers were in full bloom. Next time he was in English class, Joe thought he might write some poetry about it (much less awkward than writing poetry about girls and feelings). They passed by a small stone statue of Lillian's first mayor – a short man, missing his right ear thanks to a poorly-aimed baseball throw.

"I saw a movie too," Alice began. "It was called The Case."

"Really?" Joe asked, with mock surprise. "What was that about?"

"It was a horror movie, about a brave detective who was trying to solve a series of murders. It turns out that there are zombies involved."

"Zombies…"

"Walking corpses. The living dead. There was a big conspiracy, involving the army. In the end, the detective manages to find a cure for the zombies, but not before his wife gets turned into one too. He saves her, though. That was also a good movie."

"It definitely _sounds_ awesome."

"But really…" Alice paused. "I think it's also a movie about a group of friends, who somehow get sucked up into the mystery of their lives. Strange things start happening, and people start disappearing, and for a second the world seems scary. But then they find out that the scary things aren't scary anymore, and that the scary things were just _scared. _It's about military secrets, and train crashes, and small, lonely town. It's about the past and the future, all at once. It's a mysterious creature from another world… and about a boy who only wants to save a girl."

Joe blinked. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"I'm sorry. That was _super_ cheesy," Alice said ruefully.

"No, no." He coughed. "I think that story's pretty cool."

She grinned a little. Then she leaned sideways, so she could whisper something into his ear. "Do you still feel it?" she said softly.

"Who?"

"You know who."

"…Yeah." He did. "Every day."

"I know, it's the same for me. It's like a – a corner of my head that's gone permanently dark. Like a feeling that's sealed off forever. That thing _did _something to us, Joe. Every time I look up at night, I wonder where it – _he _– went. If he's safe. It's weird to care about it, right? After everything that happened. But I still wonder…" She pointed upward, through the trees, at the cloudless blue sky. Joe turned, following her finger.

"No, it's not weird," he replied. "But I think you might be wondering for a very long time."

"I hope not." Alice sighed. "Although maybe it's better that way."

Joe turned around, to make sure that no one was following them. He felt hellishly paranoid as he did it, but with all the lengths the air force had gone too, he wouldn't be surprised if they were keeping tabs on anyone who knew the truth. Of course, there was no one; only a family in the distance, having a picnic on the grass. Everything seemed normal (other than their topic of conversation).

And that was, paradoxically, the weirdest thing: that _everything seemed normal_. After the momentous events of that summer's night, it felt like the world should've changed. That people should've been lining the streets, reading news stories, protesting about it – whatever. Lillian, with its battle scars and its half-ruined main street, should've felt gloriously, permanently different.

But nothing was different. Nothing. People still went to work, and the shops were still open, and kids were still on summer break. Occasionally, people talked about the strange night in June, but no one actually thought about it much. Here, in the park, it was business as usual. Flowers, and trees, and—

Through one of the gaps in the trees, Joe could see all the way into town. In the distance, along the streets next to the cemetery, he could just make out half-a-dozen uniformed men. They were trudging up and down the cemetery fence, all holding some sort of scanning equipment: a cleanup crew, courtesy of the air force. There were still couple of squads of them floating around town. Scoping things out, just in case.

So, things weren't _completely _normal.

He turned back to Alice, and realised that she wasn't there. That was weird; he could still feel her, and feel her hand in his, except he was looking right at where she should've been standing and she clearly wasn't there. Only empty air beside him.

"…Alice?" His voice sounded very alone.

All around him, the trees were dead. The trees were dead, stark and black, and the ground was covered in snow.

Not snow. _Ash._

Suddenly, a FLASH:

A rush of imagery

Eyes

Skin

Dark blue

Crawling bodies

A dead world, cracked in two

The skies ablaze

And letters

Terrible letters, scrawled in fire, standing ten feet tall

**TELL THEM**

_tell them tell them Tell Them TELL THEM joe? Joe?—_

"Joe?"

The images stopped. He blinked in the sudden brightness, trying to get his bearings. He was standing in the park, next to Alice, exactly where he had been.

"Joe, are you okay? You zoned out for a second there." She was peering at him concernedly.

"I – yeah. I'm okay."

"What happened?"

"It was nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just a bit dizzy."

_What was that?_

"Let's go back. We can grab a drink, that might help."

"Okay." Joe nodded, still breathing a little heavily. He could barely think. He needed an excuse. "Actually – I promised I'd go over to Charles' house after this, and I don't want to flake out of him again. You know how he is."

'_Tell them?' Tell them about what?_

"Yeah. I guess. Well, you'd better head over there fast." She frowned. "Are you _sure_ nothing's wrong? I don't want you to fall off your bike or anything."

"I'm sure," he said, trying to concentrate, not feeling sure at all. But his answer seemed to convince her. "Same time tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

Alice smiled. "OK. Same time tomorrow."

* * *

><p>When he got home, it was a quiet night in. He had dinner with his dad – a lamb roast that was surprisingly well cooked – and they talked about work, and his plans, and anything that was happening around town. Apparently Izzy had managed to get the insurance companies to pay up for all the missing car engines, which was one big problem sorted, and a girl had gotten lost in the forest after being separated from her sister. But she'd been found, so that was good. Lucy sat beneath the table, nibbling at their feet: <em>Hint hint. I want more food!<em>

Afterwards, they sat on the couch and watched TV for a while. Joe and Jack had made a kind of deal: 'watch one of mine and I'll watch one of yours.' So together, they got through half of a baseball game, as well as the first hour of James Bond's 'Goldfinger.'

Joe found himself getting into the baseball game a bit, cheering for the state team. His dad actually cracked a smile at a few of the scenes in Goldfinger. Overall, it was a success. They agreed to do the same tomorrow night.

Joe didn't think much about the strange vision he'd seen in the park. It was unclear, in his head, exactly what'd occurred; the whole thing had been just an incoherent _rush_, like a whole night of dreams compressed into a single three-second burst. He couldn't quite remember it, really. And besides – he figured he was about due a bit of weirdness. It was surprising that there wasn't more of it around, these days.

* * *

><p>Wednesday. The white room.<p>

"What did you see on the main street, Joe?"

"Things flying. Everything metal. Cars. TVs and stuff."

"And why were those things flying?"

"Magnetic energy. The military was testing a magnetic weapon there."

"Why?"

"They wanted to test it in a populated area. They evacuated the town as cover."

"What else did you see?"

"An experimental plane. It was silver. Blue. It flew like a rocket."

"Who's plane was it?"

"The air force's. It was carrying the weapon."

Questions, endless questions, under the bright, buzzing light. Lieutenant Forman leaned forwards, his face cast in shadow.

"What happened to the people that disappeared?"

"There was a rabid bear in the forest around town. It attacked people. Lots of people."

"Why were your friends with you?"

"There wasn't anyone with me. I was alone."

"Why were you in the tunnels?"

"There are no tunnels."

"What did you see, Joe?"

"…Nothing."

* * *

><p>The worst thing was that no one believed them. Of course they'd tried to tell people – their parents, friends, whoever would listen. But no one believed them. Right after the ship had left, barely a minute after it had faded from view, the military had taken them all into custody. Anyone who'd been within Lillian's borders, or close enough to see anything 'incriminating', was brought to the Springfield facility and kept there.<p>

There were questions. Lots of questions. Cameras. Guards. Medical tests as well, and strange, humming machines. The worst part was that they were kept in isolation, unable to talk about what happened.

But in the end, they were treated relatively well, and week later they were out – free to do whatever they wanted.

Immediately, Cary had nearly driven his parents crazy by telling them about aliens and murders and spaceships. They hadn't believed him; they'd accepted the military's story about the weapons test gone wrong, thanks to some handy monetary compensation. Apparently, Cary was still trying to convince them every day.

Charles had tried to tell his folks, but had the same result. It didn't help that he had five siblings who ridiculed him every time he brought it up (although secretly, his younger brother believed him, and they whispered about it together when no one else was listening).

Martin had talked about that night with his parents. They'd sat him down, booked some counselling, and murmured something about 'mass hallucinations', which they'd seen programs about on the TV.

Preston hadn't said much to his family. He'd decided already that they'd just think he was crazy, and was waiting for a better time to show 'em some REAL proof. Like a video, maybe. Or a backpack full of classified folders.

Donny thought the whole thing had been a drug-fuelled dream. Now, he was completely sober.

In Alice and Joe's case, they could talk about it, because their fathers had been there too. But Louis Dainard and Jack Lamb didn't know _what _they'd seen – some kind of flying ship, sure, and a big grey animal, and a whole bunch of soldiers and tanks – but how it all fit together was all a mystery to them. Joe and Alice had tried to explain, and their fathers had tried to understand, but Joe could tell that they didn't really 'get it'. They were more interested in the military cover-up side of things, rather than the trapped alien creature. Kids found it much easier to believe in the impossible than adults, after all. More valuable, perhaps, were the emotional wounds that had been healed that night, thanks to one impossible creature in particular.

So, ultimately, no one knew what had occurred there, thanks to the air force's crushing insistence that everything was fine and normal. Still, the military didn't like them meeting up; it had tried to keep Joe's group of friends separate as much as it could. Joe didn't know why. Maybe it thought that they could do a bit of damage, if six people who knew the truth were all crammed in one place.

And perhaps they could. Joe sometimes saw an army patrol car, parked on the end of his street – a kind of small reminder not to do anything stupid. He imagined that all his friends had cars on the corners of their streets too.

Watching them. Just in case.

* * *

><p>They walked through the park, surrounded by green-tinged beauty.<p>

"You got an A for _history_?" Joe asked, incredulous.

Alice giggled. "Yeah. What's so weird about that?"

"Mr. Gerstmann never gives people an A."

"Doesn't he?"

"It's like he has a rule against it or something. Seriously, I had him last year and I never saw more than a B+."

"That's you. Not me."

"Yeah, but – I wrote some pretty good essays," Joe insisted.

"I guess mine were better," Alice said teasingly.

"Maybe. He _also_ gave me extra homework about fifty times."

Alice laughed. "Why did he do that?"

Joe shrugged. "I've got no idea. Cary says it's because he hates children. And that he's a Nazi."

Mr. Gerstmann was a thin, lanky German immigrant who was creeping further and further into his seventies. He taught history and geography with a shock of tangled grey hair, and was renowned for being fairly 'strict.'

"Cary doesn't know what he's talking about. If he hates children, why did he become a teacher?" Alice thought for a moment, then answered her own question. "Although if I taught people for fifty, years I'd probably hate children too…"

Joe made a mental note that she hadn't discounted the Nazi part.

The heritage park was much busier today, filled with life and activity. To the left of the path, there was some sort of gathering happening – twenty people standing around in a circle, chatting and holding drinks. On the right, a couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball through the trees. School reports had been posted this morning and were currently the hot topic of discussion (or the miserable topic, for some unfortunate people).

"So how else did you do?" Joe asked.

"Oh, it was fine," Alice said casually. "Mostly A's and B's. My dad was happy with it, so that was good. It's the first time he's even _looked _at my grades in years."

"That's cool, I guess." Joe frowned. "But I didn't know you were like…"

"…smart?" She made air-quotes with her fingers.

"Yeah."

"I'm not. Not really. Not compared to someone like Preston, who probably gets an A for everything."

"He totally does," Joe murmured. "It's ridiculous."

"But I try and put in some effort at school. I feel like otherwise… it's almost like you're wasting all the hours you spend, sitting in a classroom getting talked at. That's all you need sometimes, you know? A bit of work." She grinned. "And besides, I'm terrible at math. Now – tell me about your grades, Joseph Lamb."

"Uhh… they were alright?"

"I'm sure they were _fine_."

"Well, I didn't fail anything, if that's what you mean." It was weird how for about three hours after you got them, school grades seemed like the most important thing in the world. Then, quickly, they were forgotten in favour of actually having fun with your holidays. Joe looked down at his feet for a moment, kicking a pebble along the path.

He'd gone straight to Alice's house after their 8AM interrogation. It made the military visits much more bearable if you had something to look forward to afterwards. A couple of ducks were waddling along the bank of the park pond, and when Joe walked past, they leapt into the water, in a blur of splashing feathers. Shafts of sunlight fell through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the grass.

"I did pretty well in math, actually," he said. "I got an A for that."

"Wow, that's great. Maybe we'll have to start calling _you_ 'Math Camp' instead."

"No way." Joe shook his head vigorously. "I am NOT going to that thing. It – it made sense, that's all. All the algebra stuff. And Mrs. Shaw was a good teacher."

"Negative B plus/minus the square root of B-squared minus 2AC divided by 2A equals the root of the curve…" Alice recited, with extreme boredom.

"Exactly."

"That was _right_?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Ugh." Alice groaned. "Why can't I do THAT in a test. What else did you get?"

"Well… there was a C-minus in Latin. That happened."

"Still a pass."

"Yeah, but I actually did try in that class. It's only because Latin is stupid."

"We can definitely agree on that," Alice muttered. "You know what language I'd like to learn?"

"What?"

"Japanese."

Joe coughed. "'Japanese?'"

"Yeah. Wouldn't that be cool?" Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

"Japanese would be… interesting," he said slowly.

"It would be _amazing_. I'd love to go to Japan one day."

"Wouldn't it be hard though? To learn? They use a different alphabet to us."

"It might be hard, but it'd be worth it. I saw a book about Japan, in the library, and some of the photos… they were really beautiful. And I think it would be great to spend some time in a completely different world."

Joe nodded. He'd never actually thought about Japan much, but it probably would be cool. "Any other places you'd like to visit?"

"It's hard to decide – there's so many! France, obviously, and Spain, and South America, and Egypt, and the rest of Africa too, and India…"

"That's a _lot_ of places."

"Yeah, but look at us – we've seen barely any of the world. We're kind of stuck here for the moment, in Lillian. Or at least stuck in Ohio."

"Lillian's not that bad, is it?" Joe asked.

"Well yeah, it's fine, but there's a whole other world out there. So many other countries!" Alice turned to him. "Don't you want to explore some of it? See new things? Just… go somewhere, far away, and leave everything behind? Like Australia, for instance. When I grow up, I wanna go to Australia."

"Australia? Why?"

"Because it's about as far away as you can get from here. Literally the other side of the world."

"Australia…" Joe tried to remember what he'd learned about it. "They have all those weird animals there, right? Like the jumpy things – kangaroos. And koala bears, and platypussies. Isn't it mostly desert?"

"I have no idea," Alice said. "And that's the wonderful thing: that we know almost nothing about it. Wouldn't it be cool to go there and find out? I don't want to be stuck in Lillian my whole life, even if it is a nice town."

Joe could definitely understand where she was coming from, even though he didn't feel quite the same urge to immediately go and jump on a plane. Alice laughed suddenly. "Hey, Mr. Gerstmann would be proud! We're talking about geography even when we're not at school. What about you; are there any places you wanna go?"

He wracked his brains. "Antarctica," he said eventually.

Now it was Alice's turn to look at him weirdly. "Antarctica," she repeated.

"Yeah. Antarctica."

"Why there?"

"Because it has lots of penguins."

"What?"

"It has lots of penguins. I like penguins."

"That's… something different."

"And seals. I really like seals. They're probably my favourite animal. If I was allowed to have a seal as a pet, I would get one in a second. I think Antarctica has lots of seals."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alice replied, smiling.

"I mean, it'd probably be freezing cold, but the seals would be worth it," Joe added.

Around here, the only seals lived be in water parks and zoos. At least Lillian had lots of birds and insects though, plus the occasional grizzly bear. Their feet crunched on the gravel path, winding through the oak trees. Distant laughter echoed around the park. He turned, looking for the source, and saw a couple of kids he recognised from school playing chasey across the hill.

When he turned back to Alice, she was gone.

Joe blinked. He was standing alone on the path. Wind rustled through the trees, making the shadows sway.

No one was laughing anymore.

He looked up; it seemed to be about ten in the morning, about the same time as yesterday. Then there was a shot of pain in his skull, blinding pain, and—

a FLASH:

nighttime

something falling

smooth black cylinders plummet to earth/sonic _thumps_ as they hit the ground

eyes

stalking him through a dark forest

stalking everyone

fire, everything was on fire

a pit

but what do you say to the god of death?

'not today', and that's a promise

and another promise in scratchy letters, ten feet high:

**TELL THEM**

**TELL THEM IT'S**

* * *

><p>Three miles eastward, Charles was sitting on his bed, showing Martin his latest filmmaker's magazine. "See? Look at this. This is exactly what I've been trying to tell you!"<p>

"Okay, okay! Let me look." Martin grabbed the magazine and started reading the article. It was titled '_Connection & Emotion: How to Get Your Audience Involved in Your Movie'._

Charles got up and walked over to the window. He ran his fingers along his dusty bookshelf, past stacks of film reels and rolled-up posters. There was a bowl of potato chips on the desk and he bent down and grabbed a handful, munching on them thoughtfully. "Martin, the key is getting the audience to care about the characters. It doesn't matter how good the story is, or how cool the action is, all that matters is that they _care_. It needs to mean something if people are in danger, you know? Like in Star Wars, all the characters are actually really simple – Luke, and Obi-Wan, and Han Solo, and Princess Leia – but we still care about them, because they're good characters, and that makes the movie exciting. Or interesting, or emotional, or funny. Martin?" Charles looked over his shoulder, and saw that the bed was empty.

The magazine was gone too. "Martin?... Where the hell did you go?"

Eerily, the sky outside was no longer that familiar deep blue. Instead, it was an ashen kind of grey. Like a storm had rushed in, or a thick layer of smoke. Charles stepped closer. Suddenly, he had an absolutely _piercing_ headache and—

A FLASH

* * *

><p>"Okay, okay! Let me look." Martin sighed, and took the magazine from his friend. He scanned the article quickly: '<em>Connection &amp; Emotion: How to Get Your Audience Involved in Your Movie'. <em>The pages were already a little sticky from where Charles had spilled his Coke on them yesterday.

Grudgingly, he started reading (he was still kind of tired from staying up late last night, watching TV and eating candy). He scratched at his knee for a second, then forced himself to stop; the cast for his broken leg had only come off a couple of days ago. It was still a bit sore and tender, although at least there were no bones sticking out of it anymore. Ugh. That had been the WORST. Beside him, Charles got up and walked over to the window.

"Martin, the key is getting the audience to care about the characters," he began. "It doesn't matter how good the story is, or how cool the action is, all that matters is that they _care_…"

Martin tuned him out. He turned over the page. Charles was still talking.

Then, suddenly, Charles _wasn't_ talking.

That was unusual. Martin glanced up, and saw that Charles was gone.

Martin shrugged. Whatever, he'd probably gone to the bathroom for something. He turned back to the magazine, but suddenly the world was spinning and his head hurt and everything went white and FLASHED

* * *

><p>Cary looked down at his baby sister, sleeping peacefully on the sofa. She was clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest, covered by a raggedy, rose-pink blanket. Brooke was still little – she'd only turned four last month – but she had blonde hair and blue eyes, same as him. The same huge smile.<p>

Cary knelt down over her, his face right next to hers. He was about to shout 'Boo!' when he thought better of it; instead, he started whispering in her ear.

"You believe me, don't you," he murmured, so quiet you could barely hear it. "You believe me about what happened. You think it's _cool_ that a monster came to visit. Don't you, Dumbo."

Her eyes didn't open. She kept sleeping.

"You believe me, Dumbo, even if mom and dad don't. About the aliens, and the spaceships… and you know I'm telling the truth. Don't you, little sister…"

Cary stood up. He gazed at his sister for a moment, then sighed unhappily. "Or maybe you don't. Maybe you think I'm crazy too." He looked around the empty, quiet room. He was about to leave when the roomed seemed to _shiver_.

Afterwards, it felt different. The same room, but different.

Like a copy.

When Cary looked down, his sister was gone. Before he had any time to panic there was a FLASH

* * *

><p>Preston was sitting in a tree, minding his own business, when a bird came in to land on the branch above him. He looked up; it was some kind of weird crow thing, with black feathers and beady eyes. The bird tilted its head, slightly evilly, and gave him a piercing glare.<p>

Preston blinked. He put down the book he'd been reading – _'Slaughterhouse Five_' by Kurt Vonnegut – and stared back at the bird.

They stayed like this for a long moment.

Then, eventually, the bird looked away. It squawked irritably and plucked at something in its feathers.

"Take that, bird," Preston muttered. He turned back to his book. It was a good book. Sitting in a tree, reading – it was a nice way to spend a summer's day. Pages turned quickly.

Then: _Squawk! _The bird was back.

Except clearly, it wasn't. The branch was empty.

_Squawk! _He could hear it, pecking around, he could hear it like it was right in front of him.

Preston put the book between his knees, leaned forward, and swept his hand through the air above the branch. There was a furious squawk and sound like flapping and an explosion of black fluffy feathers.

Except there was _nothing there_. He couldn't see anything, only hear it. It was _super_ weird. Preston frowned, and then he almost fell out of the tree as a rush of images forced themselves into his brain and FLASHED

* * *

><p>In the park, Alice turned away so she could roll her eyes without Joe noticing. Seals; what was so special about seals? They were basically just dogs that lived in the ocean. Although her favourite animal was pretty stupid too, now that she thought about it. Who in their right mind would have a thing for turtles—<p>

Suddenly, Alice felt a kind of emptiness around her. Like the world had changed, somehow; like she was somewhere else. She looked around.

Joe wasn't there anymore.

"Joe? Where are you?"

He was nowhere to be seen – nothing but trees in every direction. The park was empty. Alice frowned. It was quiet. REALLY quiet.

"Joe?"

And suddenly, a FLASH:

night

objects falling

cylinders, shiny and black, making the ground shudder when they hit

hundreds of them

bright eyes in a dark forest

hunting them

hunting her

fire, everywhere

and love

but what do you say to the god of death?

'not today.' that was a promise.

and another promise in dark letters that burned ten feet high:

**TELL THEM**

**TELL THEM IT'S COMING**

* * *

><p>The vision ended. Joe fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He closed his fingers around the grass and dirt, searching for something to hold onto. Beside him Alice did the same. It was dizzying, sickening, the world spinning around them. He saw her shake her head – eyes shut, trying to think. Trying not to vomit. She sounded like she'd just run a marathon.<p>

"What _was_ that?"

"I, I don't know. I don't know." Joe was still struggling to breathe.

"What just happened? Did we black out or something?"

"I don't know." Joe coughed, and finally managed to get some semblance of composure. It was like… I saw things. Pictures."

"Yeah. I saw some too." Alice looked up, confused. "Why – why would we… What were they?"

"Fire. Things on fire," Joe said. "And eyes, in the darkness. Something falling. A pit."

"That's… that's the same as me. But—"

They looked at each other, in the sunny green park, like the world could fall out from under them at any moment. Behind them, the trees echoed with laughter as children played in the sun.

"And words," Alice said. "I saw words, too."

"And words." Joe nodded. _Words and a promise._

"…What was that, Joe? What happened to us? What the hell did we see?"

He had absolutely no idea.

* * *

><p>Friday. The white room. Thoughts whirling through his mind.<p>

"Why did you go back to Lillian, Joe?"

"I wanted to find my dog. Lucy."

"Did you find her?"

"Yes, I let her out."

"Then what happened?"

"I went to the main street because I saw something in the sky there."

"What did you see?"

"It was strange. Things were flying, anything made of metal. Like they were being sucked up."

"Where were they being sucked up to?"

"There was an air force plane above the water tower. It was carrying a magnetic weapon."

"Good, Joe. That's good." Lieutenant Forman leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "I think we're getting somewhere."

Joe sat there, quietly.

"Do you think you could do something for me, Joe?"

He shrugged. The Lieutenant glanced at him, a calculating look in his eye. "Joe, I want you to think about you did, really hard. And then I want you to—"

**TELL**

**THEM**

Joe blinked. The words disappeared.

But they'd been there. They'd definitely been there. Abruptly, Lieutenant Forman pressed a button on his ear; he was wearing a small plastic earpiece. He tilted his head, like he was listening. When he stopped listening, his expression was… cautious.

"Joe. What happened?"

"What? Nothing."

"_Something_ must have. Your heart rate just doubled for about three seconds."

Joe was suddenly acutely aware of the electrodes taped to his chest. "I – I don't know. I just panicked for a second."

"What triggered it? Was it a memory?"

"No, no. It's… it was the light. It's really bright. My head hurts a little." He pointed at the ceiling.

"Hmmm. Alright." Lieutenant Forman appeared to accept the explanation. "But you have to tell me if you feel anything strange, okay? Anything at all."

Joe nodded.

"Anything at all, Joe. It's important. Now, where were we…"

* * *

><p>Joe stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He was sweating. His friends were all sitting on the bench in the hallway, and immediately turned to stare. Their eyes were filled with worry. Martin squinted, cleaning his glasses. Cary was fidgeting in his seat like he'd eaten a whole tin of sugar. And Alice… Alice just looked at him. Quiet concern.<p>

_"We need to talk,"_ Charles mouthed.

Joe nodded. _"Not here_."

He walked past the guard and sat down next to Charles, then leaned over slightly and whispered something in his friend's ear. "I'll call you tonight. Make sure the batteries are charged."

"What?" Charles muttered. "The phone doesn't need any batt – oh."

* * *

><p>Joe pressed the transmit button of the walkie-talkie and prayed that Charles would answer.<p>

"This is Joe, over."

He was at home, sitting on the ground in the lounge room. Lucy lay on the carpet next to him staring blankly at the TV; she seemed to like the TV for some reason, and would bark furiously whenever she saw another dog on it. His dad was still in the kitchen, eating dinner. He'd arrived home early for a change thanks to a quiet day at the station.

"Charles, this is Joe. Pick up."

There was a crackle of static, then a disembodied voice: _"I hear you, Joe. Over."_

_Oh, thank God. _Joe let out the breath he'd been holding."Hey Charles."

_"Hey. What's the plan?"_

"The plan is to meet up. I didn't want to use the phone just in case."

_"'Just in case' what?"_

"They might be listening."

Joe could imagine Charles pacing around in his head. _"…That's a Dr. Woodward level of paranoid, Joe."_

"Is that bad?"

_ "No, it's great! Preston was telling me the other day that he thought our phones were bugged. They're watching us, to make sure we don't talk."_

"Joe, who're you talking to?"

He whirled around. His dad was standing in the lounge room doorway, a bowl of stew in his hand. "No one," he replied quickly. "Just testing out the radio. I think it's broken."

Jack nodded. "Okay. Tell me if you need a hand fixing it – I've had to mend a hundred of those damn things at the station."

"Thanks. I will."

His dad left. Joe turned back to the TV, and gave Lucy a comforting pat. "…Charles? You still there?"

_"Of course I'm here, dumbass. You were saying something about a plan?"_

"Yeah. I want us to meet up, in person. Tonight."

"_Tonight?!"_ Charles' voice exploded from the speaker. Joe winced.

"What's wrong with tonight?"

_"Don't you remember what happened the_ last_ time we tried that? The day after we were let out? When they found us they separated everyone, and then they handcuffed me and stuffed me into a truck. Handcuffed! In a truck! Like – like I was being kidnapped! It was AWFUL."_

"They didn't do anything to you, did they? I thought they just brought you back to your house."

_"I didn't _know_ that at the time. I thought they were going to kill us and dump our bodies in the river!"_

Joe thought for a minute. "…There aren't any rivers around here, though?"

"_THAT DOESN'T MATTER! It was – ugh. Whatever._" Charles sighed. _"Joe, we should talk. I saw something super weird the other day, and Martin did too. Hurry up and tell me about this plan of yours."_

"OK, OK. Are you alone?"

_"Of course I'm alone. Dumbass."_

"Then listen. Because this is what we're gonna do."

* * *

><p>Joe crouched in the bushes, listening for any movement.<p>

There was none. He crept forwards, quiet as he could. He was skirting the side of the house, to where his bike was leaning against the wall.

_"Hey dad. Is it okay if I stay over at Martin's tonight?"_

_ "Uh – sure. Did you ask his parents?"_

_ "Yep. They said yes."_

_ "I suppose that's fine then. Do you want me to drive you over?"_

_ "No, that's okay. I'll ride. I'll be back tomorrow morning."_

He crept forwards a little more, watching for any conspicuously-parked army vehicles. Ideally, his friends would've all had similar conversations to ask if they could stay over. (Of course, no one was actually 'staying' anywhere – Martin was supposedly heading to Preston's, and Preston was heading to Charles', and Charles was heading to Joe's, but in reality, they were all going to a certain secret meeting spot. Hopefully the deception would work.)

Ah! There it was: a dark green jeep parked on the corner, half-hidden behind a house. He peered at it, trying to see if anyone was inside but the jeep was too far away. Joe crouched down. If no one was looking too hard he could easily make it to the bike. The night was dark enough to hide in, and countless games of hide-and-seek had made him pretty good at sneaking around.

Heart beating fast, he snuck forwards and grabbed the bike, then wheeled it back into the shadows.

No sudden lights piercing the darkness. No shouts of alarm.

Joe grinned. He opened the back gate and looked both ways; there was a small, overgrown alleyway that ran between the Lamb house and the neighbours', which led all the way down the hill into town.

Like he'd thought, the alleyway was empty. Joe stepped through, shutting the gate carefully behind him. It squeaked slightly as it closed. Then he jumped on his bike and started pedalling, riding towards the Lillian water tower.

Houses passed by on either side. Yellow lights shone from within as families prepared for bed. The trees all around were dark and shadowy, and the bike crunched softly over fallen leaves and sticks. Riding through the night, with no one around, there was a unique sense of being _alone_: alone amongst the stars, as the town quietly slept.

He slowed down at the end of the alley, applying the brakes gently. After checking the street, he turned right, going further downhill.

When he thought about the vision he'd seen in the park, it just didn't seem _real_. It felt like something that would happen in dream. The flashes of emotion, the images, the way the world flashed and disappeared… it wasn't right. It was un-real.

The alien was gone. Things weren't supposed to be weird anymore.

He rode past the school, its gates still shut for summer. Then the park, and the cemetery, both silent and deserted. He was about to reach the more populated streets when another bike peeled out of the darkness next to him. Its rider was short, wearing a brown light jacket.

"Joe!" Cary hissed. "Hey, it's me!"

"Hey."

"This is exciting, isn't it? Sneaking around again, I mean!"

"Yeah." Joe smiled; it _was_ kind of exciting. "It's good to see you."

"Aww, seriously? That's so sweet."

Joe snorted, and Cary giggled. But he was glad to see him – it meant at least one other person had made it. They rode together down the hill, then up towards the next crest. The first car Joe had seen drove by, its headlights flaring in the night. He heard muffled music as it rumbled past. A minute later, they whipped around the corner, onto the main road that ran through town.

This was the first time he'd seen it at night since the incident. It had been cleaned up fairly well, even if the shops were in varying states of disrepair. Some had windows boarded up, still waiting to be reopened. Others seemed good as new, with bright signs advertising from their windows. Olsen's Cameras was one of the unlucky ones, its shelves still conspicuously empty. They flew past, side by side, standing up on the pedals.

Soon, they reached the rebuilt water tower. The new tower was basically identical to the old – same circular shape, maybe a little taller, painted a similar shade of blue. After the military had removed the old tower's collapsed frame (a complex operation involving several enormous construction cranes), they'd scanned the tower's remains for any scraps of left-behind technology. After finding none, the new tower was erected and connected to the water supply in less than a week.

The others were there already, standing by the fence with their bikes. Joe and Cary skidded to a stop before them.

"Hey guys."

"Hey."

Charles gestured at the tower. "Are we going up?"

"Yeah." Joe nodded. "We're going up."

They stashed their bikes in the alley by the grocery store, so that no one could see them from the road, then walked to the gate in the water tower's fence. Martin tried to open it. The chain rattled. "It's locked," he said unhappily.

"Don't worry, I can pick it," Cary piped up.

"What? You can pick locks now?"

"Yeah. It's easy."

"…_How?_"

"Martin, you have _no _idea how bored I get during the holidays. Especially when I'm not allowed to see you guys. Come on. Out of the way, out of the way." He shuffled over to the gate and pulled a small bag from his pocket. He fished through it for a second, then took out a couple of thin picks.

The fence was locked by a padlock, around a chain that held it shut. Previously they would've simply climbed over it, but now there was a thick layer of barbed wire at the top; an unpleasant new addition. Joe stepped back and waited next to Alice. He glanced nervously up and down the street but there was no one in sight. Lillian was basically dead after 11pm. Cary crouched by the lock, making clicking sounds and muttering to himself.

"Okay. Got it," he said eventually. He held up the padlock and pulled the chain through. The water tower gate swung silently open.

It felt good, to be working together again.

They filed through, Charles leading the way. There was a ladder that led up the central 'leg' of the water tower; it was like the ladders you saw on antennas or high-voltage power lines, thin rungs surrounded by a barred metal cage. Charles scrambled up onto the tower's concrete pad and grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder.

"Up?" he asked again.

Joe nodded. "Up."

Charles started climbing. The others followed. Martin first, then Preston, then Cary, then Alice, and (finally) Joe. The each waited for the other person to get a few metres ahead before starting. It was a tall ladder. It wouldn't be fun to fall.

They climbed steadily. The metal trembled a little with their weight. Joe glanced up and saw Alice's shoes ahead of him, and the bottom of the water tank thirty yards distant – a dark, black circle. He gripped the cold metal firmly, not looking down.

"Hey, Math Camp! Hurry up!"

"Shh, I'm trying!" Preston hissed back. "I'm not the biggest fan of heights, alright?"

"Oh. My bad."

Up and up, higher and higher as the ground fell away beneath them. A minute later, Charles reached the top of the ladder, pulling himself onto the landing. The ladder led to a walkway that skirted the bottom of the water tank; this ended in another short ladder that led to the top of the tank itself. He ducked under a bit of pipe and started along the walkway, his shoes clanging on the metal.

"Charles," Martin called out.

"What?"

"Don't look down."

"I hate you."

Charles gripped the railing tightly. Thirty metres up, there was a stiff breeze gusting around tower, and the ground was clearly visible through the walkway grating below his feet. But it was only a short walk to the second ladder, and soon enough he was climbing that too. The others all followed in a weird kind of conga line, one-by-one clambering up onto the walkway. Joe trailed a couple of feet behind Alice, muscles shivering a little from the climb. It was difficult to see anything in the shadow of the water tank and he nearly tripped on a step, barely catching himself, heart pounding.

Alice turned around. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

He got to the top, and tiptoed cautiously along the catwalk. The second ladder was much shorter and was bolted to the side of the tank. It too had a kind of metal cage around it so at least you couldn't fall back – still, Joe was acutely aware of the empty air all around as he started to climb upwards.

Charles had already reached the summit. "Hey guys, hurry up!" he shouted. "The view's amazing!"

Martin agreed a moment later. "Oh yeah. Look! You can see the my house from here."

"Martin, you can see _everyone's _house from here."

"I KNOW, Charles, I'm just saying."

The top of the water tank was sloped like a shallow dome, easily flat enough to stand on. It was about ten metres in diameter and impressively large up close. The edge was bounded by a low metal safety railing. When Joe reached the top the others were already standing in the middle, at the peak, marvelling quietly at the view. He took a second to catch his breath, then walked over to join them.

The view _was_ amazing: Lillian was situated in a valley and this had to be one of the highest points between the surrounding hills. The whole town lay around them, an endless series of dark rooves and sloping streets fifty metres below. Warm yellow light glowed from a hundred windows, accompanied by the buzz of distant streetlights. Fir and pine trees stood starkly in the night, standing in rows and clumps all the way to the edge of town, where they formed into thick forests on the hillsides. Some of the trees were as tall as the tower and swayed gently in the breeze. The cemetery was visible a few hundred metres distant, and the school, and all the familiar landmarks he knew and loved – and yes, there, he could see his house, on its sloping, gently curving road, about a finger's-width away from Charles'.

Suddenly, Joe realised that the group was looking at him expectantly – waiting for him to tell them what to do. He still wasn't quite used to being a leader.

"So… how are you guys?" he asked cautiously.

Charles: "Good!"

Cary: "Great."

Martin: "Yeah, alright."

Preston: "About seven and a half out of ten?"

Alice: "It's definitely cool to see everyone again."

Another pause.

Then Alice giggled a little.

"What's so funny?" Charles asked, frowning.

"You guys all look so – _worried_. Like you've forgotten how to act around each other. Joe, should we sit down?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

And then everyone was smiling and bickering again, just like old times. They sat in a circle near the edge of the tower, facing each other across the cool, dark steel. Stars twinkled down on them from the cloudless evening sky. Even from up here, you could hear the crickets chirping, and smell the scent of the forest.

In the silence, Preston's eyes flicked nervously to the safety railing a few feet away. "Is being up here entirely… safe?" he asked.

"Why would they put a ladder on this thing if they didn't want you to climb it?" Cary retorted.

"Yeah, well, I just don't any of my friends to fall to their deaths. That would ruin my entire holiday." Preston thought for a moment. "Even more than it's been ruined already."

Charles rolled his eyes. "No one's gonna fall, Preston. Unless you push them."

"If you say so. I'm still going to stay away from the edge, if that's OK with you. Why did we have to meet up here, anyway?"

Everyone turned to look at Joe again.

"I… I just wanted to…" He trailed off. It was difficult to explain. "…It's about the alien, I guess. I just wanted to remember."

"'Remember?'" Charles echoed.

"Yeah. To remember everything that's happened. I feel like – like we should, somehow."

"AND you also wanted to talk about those freaky visions, right?" Cary added. "Because I'm guessing everyone saw those—"

Nodding around the circle.

"—and they were seriously SUPER weird. And scary."

"Well, that too," Joe said. "But… we kind of already know why that happened, don't we? Why we saw that stuff."

They did know. Or at least, they all had their suspicions. Everyone was quiet, thinking about what they'd seen. There was only one thing in their minds that possibly could've caused it.

_It was him_, Alice thought._ It has to be_. She realised how similar it was to what she'd experienced in the tunnels beneath the cemetery. The 'flash' did feel a little different, though; instead of information being passed to her, it felt like it had always been in her mind somewhere – but only now had been unlocked. _A dark corner of your head, unknown, sealed away…_ but it didn't make sense. Only she and Joe had touched the alien, so why had the others received the same strange dream—?

Martin spoke suddenly. "It's really shitty, how we're not allowed to meet up."

"Yeah," Charles answered. "Why do we have to sneak around like this? I miss seeing all you guys together."

"I miss you too, Charles."

"Shut up, Cary. But it's so _stupid_ – why are they keeping us apart? It's not like we can do anything to mess up the air force's plans. We probably couldn't, even if we tried."

"It is stupid," Joe agreed. "But at least we're here now, right?"

"Yeah. I guess."

They all could agree on that.

"Speaking of remembering… do you guys remember the train crash?" Martin asked. "That first night we were filming?"

"How could I ever forget?" Preston muttered.

"Everything was completely normal. It was going great. And then suddenly it as all on fire, and crashing, and exploding, and there was so much dust and smoke everywhere we could barely see each other, and then we thought Alice was dead—"

"What? You thought I was dead?"

"Briefly," Joe interrupted.

"And then I vomited, and then we found Dr. Woodward, and he pulled a gun on us, then we had to run away from the military… man, that was insane. How much everything changed."

"Yeah," Charles said. "Totally. And then we tried to figure out what the hell was happening to us. That was fun, too."

"I seem to remember that _you_ didn't want anything to do with it," Preston retorted.

"I did, but – I just didn't us want to get in trouble with the air force."

"And how did that work out for you?"

Charles made an unpleasant face.

"And the evacuation? How weird was that?" Cary continued. "Seeing everyone in the town, all… gone. Loaded up into those buses."

"Yeah. And then we snuck out and broke into the school," Martin added. "We snuck out. And we _broke into the school_."

Joe shrugged. "At least we never got into trouble for _that_ part. They last guy that broke in got expelled."

"To be honest, I think people had bigger things to worry about after that," Preston said. "Like how half the town was shot to pieces. Oooh! And there was also Dr. Woodward's tapes—"

Cary nodded. "Man, when I first saw that alien I was so freaked out."

"And then the air force came and arrested us. That was gnarly."

"Oh my god, and then that thing attacked us in the bus!"

"And that guy tried to shoot it and got crushed to death for real—"

"Yeah, I only remember everyone screaming and going crazy and the whole thing tipping—"

"_I_ only remember being kidnapped by an alien monster," Alice interrupted. "And, you know. Nearly being eaten."

They all fell silent with slightly guilty looks.

Alice sighed. "We shouldn't remember this as some kind of fun adventure, that's all. It wasn't fun for all of us. People _died. _I almost did. I thought… I thought maybe I would, down in those tunnels."

A month later, with a bit of distance, Joe realised it almost did feel like an adventure in his memory. The terror, the sadness, the desperation... it all faded with time. Maybe it was a coping mechanism to only remember the happy endings, and not the pain it required to get there. Some good had resulted from the past month, and some amazing moments he'd remember forever, but it hadn't come without a cost.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I don't think it was much fun for any of us," Joe said.

"Definitely not," Preston echoed.

"Like the bus. That was terrifying. Really."

"I remember going into town, and seeing those tanks," Cary said. "When one of them was coming after us, and we were running, I looked over my shoulder and I saw it drive right through that playground. Remember? Crushed it right under it, like it was paper. That was scary."

Charles nodded. "Yeah. The rockets, and the tanks, and the soldiers. The fires. Not knowing what was happening, like you could be shot any second. That was bad. And when Martin broke his leg – that was the worst part. The huge bang, and being thrown around. We were sitting there in the rubble, and everyone was screaming, and I was trying to help, but…"

"…but my bone was sticking out of my leg," Martin whispered. "My bone was sticking out. OF MY LEG."

"And then we went down into the tunnels," Cary said quietly. "Joe and me. It was dark down there."

Joe nodded. "Really dark. And – I thought you were dead too."

Alice looked at him. It was strange, saying it out loud.

"The creature was there, right over you. I thought we… I thought we were too late. I thought you were gone. I can still remember how that felt, and I never want to feel that again."

Around the circle, in the darkness, the others were little more than shadows. It was hard to see their faces, how they were feeling – you could only tell from their voices. And up there, on the tower, it was like their own little world. Warm. Quiet. Far above everything else. The sky seemed immense as it curved all around them.

"But there were some good things too," Joe continued. "Because we found you. Right?"

Alice smiled faintly. "Yeah."

"And we're still alive."

"Yeah."

"And we found out that some things… some things weren't so bad after all."

It was simple, when you put it like that.

"We should have _died_," Preston murmured.

_But we didn't_. "…Did you bring the stuff?" Joe asked him.

"What stu— oh, of course." Preston took off his backpack and started rummaging around inside. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. "Here." He passed a few circular objects to Joe, who put them in the middle of the circle; a stack of paper followed.

Cary's eyes widened. "You brought it all _here_? What if they find us?!"

Joe shook his head. "They won't."

Two film reels, and a dozen manila folders: all the hard evidence they had of the alien's existence. At a glance, it was a very small pile. Alice leaned forwards and took one of the reels, turning it over in her hands. "Have you guys got a flashlight or anything?"

"Better." Charles opened his own pack and took out a couple of torches, and then a small black box that looked a lot like a film projector. It was a film projector, in fact.

"Charles…?"

"Yes Martin?"

"Excuse me, but how are you going to power that thing?"

"Well, you know that thing called 'electricity?' There's also a thing called 'batteries'. My projector can take batteries. It only lasts a few minutes, but it'll be enough."

Charles spent a minute or so fiddling with the projector. There was some muffled grunting and rattling as he tried to set it up in the dark. Soon enough, he had it ready, and made up a tiny makeshift screen by leaning a sheet of cardboard against his backpack. It'd do.

"Here." Alice handed him the film reels.

"Thanks." He took one out of its cover and slotted it film in, then pressed the projector's 'on' switch.

Immediately, the projector whirred to life. An image appeared on the screen, small and dim: Dr. Woodward's classroom at Lillian Middle School. The view was a little jerky and out of focus, but you could see two soldiers discussing something near the back of the room.

"Oh, this was me," Preston realised. "You can skip this part, it's not that exciting. Where's the sound?"

"For sound we'd need speakers, and they _don't_ run on batteries."

They all gazed at the movie for a minute, in grainy, flickering colour. It was the only source of light on the water tower, revealing quiet stares and contemplative faces. The two soldiers were still talking. In the meantime, Joe handed around the torches and a couple of the folders.

When Cary turned his flashlight on, it was suddenly, alarmingly bright.

"Hey! Be careful with that thing," Charles hissed, shielding his eyes. "We don't want anyone to see us up here."

"Stress less, man. No one's gonna see us." Still, Cary pointed the flashlight downward, making it a little less obvious from the ground. He opened his folder – _'Care and Containment: Procedure Guide #2'_, it said – and started flicking through. Soon, they were all looking at their own folders, sitting in a soft circle of torchlight. The only sound was the soft rustling of paper.

Joe read through the first document. It was written in exacting military language, cleanly typed, and described some kind of operation in the 1960s that had been designed to capture the alien: 'Operation Argus.' There was lots of talk about Soviets, and fallback plans, and 'classified directives.' It would've been dry reading, except for the fact it clearly stated that aliens existed and that the US military had attempted to keep one. That was definitely newsworthy.

On the screen, the view changed. Now, it showed the alien in the street, when they'd run into it almost by accident. It was standing there clearly in the middle of the road. Frozen. Looking at the camera. Alice was slightly visible to the side of the frame. She stepped forward bravely, reaching out to it, and— the alien bolted, leaping away over the rooftops. The camera whirled, trying to follow it, but lost the shape in the night.

They did remember. Looking through the documents, seeing it played out on that bit of creased cardboard… it was still real. All of it. Alice read about experiments, and graphs and tables of test data. Martin read about interviews with the scientists in the Argus Project. (Dr. Woodward was one of them, and he thought it was eerie to be reading a dead man's words, and to hear Woodward's voice in his head.) Cary and Preston glanced through lists of equipment, and photographs of the alien's wrecked ship.

"Guys, look," Charles murmured.

They looked. The film was showing the scene on the main street, with cubes and metal flying through the air. Its ship was forming on top of the water tower – the tower where they now sat – as a legion of soldiers watched in astonishment. The camera ducked and whirled, trying to capture the strangeness of what was occurring.

Together, they remembered the alien, climbing towards its ship.

They remembered the air force shooting it down.

They remembered trying to protect it, and how weird that had felt.

They remembered a ship, disappearing into the stars.

Some of them remembered being reunited, with the only family they had left.

"We – we found _alien life_," Martin breathed. It was an awe-inspiring thing. "We found it. We met it. _Us_."

"Yeah," Cary said. "And it was intelligent."

"And friendly," Alice added firmly. Out of all of them, she was one who believed that the most.

On the screen, the alien's ship disappeared into the sky, indistinguishable against the stars. The camera quickly panned around the street, taking in the chaos: soldiers, wreckage, collapsed water tower. Then – _click_ – the film ended.

There was a long, expectant pause.

"We could blow this whole thing wide open, with the stuff we've got in our hands," Martin said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean, 'blow it open?' Charles asked.

"I mean tell people. Tell them the truth." He gestured around at the folders, the film reels. "We can prove it, with all this. What happened to us, what it means… it not a small-town thing. It's _huge_. People deserve to know about it."

Alice nodded. "They do. Regardless of what the air force thinks."

"It WAS pretty cool," Cary agreed.

"But it's like nothing took place at all," Martin said. "Everyone's going about their lives like normal, when they should be…"

"Should be what?"

"I don't know. They should… they should _know_, that's all. We should figure out a way to tell them."

Martin pointed at the sleeping town below, as a dog barked somewhere in the distance. In an hour or two, all of Lillian would be asleep, except for perhaps the most dedicated TV watchers and the unfortunate night shift at the steel mill. It would be quiet, for a while. Then, in the morning, the town would get up and get ready and go to work, ready for another day – butchers, bakers, bus drivers, boilermakers… It would be busy, for a time, and it would go quiet again. Life went on.

"Everything was crazy, and now it's like nothing about it mattered," Martin continued. "The air force is trying super hard to cover everything up, and even they don't know what happened, really. Everyone else _definitely _doesn't. And then a month passes, everything's fine, and suddenly we start getting weird pictures in our heads?"

"Yeah, about that…" Joe began. _It's probably about time we talk about the NEW weirdest thing that's happened to us. _"We all saw stuff, didn't we?"

"Yep. Martin and I were both in my room," Charles explained, "and then for some reason we couldn't see each other anymore. Like we'd disappeared. And then there was this _flash_, and – pictures. Lots of pictures. It was incredible."

"It was the same for me," Preston said. "About ten thirty yesterday morning."

Cary grimaced. "Same. I was babysitting my sister, and _bam _- it happened. I was super dizzy after it, too. Felt sick. It was like a dream in real life, like I was..."

"...alone?" Alice asked.

"Yeah. Like I was alone suddenly. Like everyone else in the world was gone."

"Mmm. Me too."

"So it was at the same time..." Joe murmured. "But Alice and I saw the same things, too. What about you guys? What did you see?"

They went around the circle, trying to sound brave. It was kind of freaky, remembering it, with the night all around them.

"I saw a fire. A huge circle of fire, rolling outwards, like from a bomb," Preston said.

Cary shivered. "I saw eyes. Lots of eyes. Just floating in pitch black."

"Things falling to earth. A bit like the escape pods, from Star Wars," Charles offered.

"Black cylinders?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Alice nodded. "I remember feeling like I was being hunted. Or not me being hunted, maybe, but… that feeling of running, and being scared."

"And a pit," Martin added.

"And words," Joe said. He took out a pen and a piece of paper, and tried to write the words as he'd seen them in his head. It was hard to convey how harsh, how all-consuming it had seemed. Eventually, he settled for big, scratchy letters, all caps, slightly jagged and frayed: 'TELL THEM / IT'S COMING.'

When he held up the paper, everyone recognised the phrase. It was already seared into their memories.

Martin laughed humourlessly. "Haha. Even that says to 'tell them'. See?"

"But why? Why would we see that stuff? Why would it be the same for all of us?" Alice asked.

"Maybe we're all insane," Preston suggested. "Maybe we're all imagining this right now, and in reality we're all locked up in a mental asylum."

"You wish," Cary retorted.

"Hey. YOU should've been locked up years ago for setting things on fire. But I'm being serious. It could be some kind of mass hallucination or something. We all went through the same thing—"

"Exactly," Charles interrupted. "_We all went through the same thing_. The creature. It was chasing us, we were close to it. Maybe that affected us, somehow."

"Like – like a virus or something?" Martin asked.

"No, I mean like in the head. Mentally."

"Oh, so IT made us crazy. That's _so_ much better," Cary said.

Alice frowned. "No, I actually think that's right. He must've done something to us – changed us, right? That's the only explanation I can think of. I mean, we can't all be crazy. I don't _feel_ like I'm going crazy. Do you?" She turned to Joe.

"No. No. At least, I don't think so," he said cautiously. "That could be the explanation. I'm thinking about it, and we might be the only people in the world who got close to it and are still living."

That was a sobering thought. No one wanted to dwell on it too much, because it sounded like it was probably true.

"Whatever it is, there must be a reason," Charles continued. He pointed at the folders. "And whatever the reason is, it's probably in here. These explain a ton about everything that took place. There might be a clue about what all that stuff we saw means – or at least _why _we saw it. Right now, we barely know what any of it is."

"And if the answer isn't in there?" Martin asked.

"Then we'll have to find out somewhere else."

"…exactly how are we supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. But there must be more information about this out there, right? The air force has to be keeping it someplace. They've probably got a whole bunch of secret facilities devoted to this stuff…"

"We got lucky _once_, Charles," Martin said. "I don't think we're supposed to go sneaking into military labs."

"Yeah, well. It was just a thought."

"Tell them it's coming…" Alice murmured. "What does that even mean? Tell who? We can't tell anyone, they'll all think we're crazy kids."

Joe nodded. "And we don't even know 'what's' coming. It sounds bad."

They all paused, imaginations running wild – if this was all because they'd been in contact with the alien, then almost anything could happen. Martin had an unpleasant thought about a horde of giant spiders invading the earth, and shivered. _Anything but spiders._

"I wanna find him," Cary said suddenly.

"What?" Charles asked.

"You heard me. I want to find that stupid thing – creature, alien, whatever it is. That lump."

"Finding it would certainly solve many of our problems," Preston said. "…and probably create a whole lot more."

"Whatever. If we found it, we could just ASK it what the hell this means."

"Yeah, but how?" Charles said. "That thing flew off into space, remember. I mean, _look at all those stars_ – how are we supposed to know where it went?"

They looked up. There were a lot of stars.

"See? It could be anywhere. It could be a billion miles away by now. And I don't know about you, but _I_ don't own a spaceship."

"I do," Alice said quietly.

Charles did a double-take. "…you own a spaceship?"

"No, I mean I want to find them too."

"'Them?'"

"The thing we saw was only one member of his species. There has to be others. There's a whole planet of them, somewhere up there."

Joe remembered what he'd learned, from the creature in the tunnels. There _was_ a whole alien planet up there – along with countless other worlds. He didn't know how he felt about that. _An entire planet of those things…_

"But still…" Martin murmured. "What are we gonna do? That thing left. We're stuck here, we can't chase after it. The military have everything locked down."

"I don't know what we'll do," Joe replied. _But I think I want to find it too._

"We'll find a way," Alice said. "If we want to."

"Well, I want to," Cary said firmly. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going for it."

Preston nodded. "Yeah, me too. I want to know what this is about. So I guess I agree on principle, even though I have no idea what we're doing yet?... Hm. Perhaps this was a bad deci—"

"I'll help out," Charles interrupted. "Let's do it. It'll probably be… fun, right?"

Martin groaned. "Fun? You guys really didn't learn anything from this, did you."  
>They all shrugged helplessly.<p>

"Ugh, fine. I'll come along, as long as I don't have to break any more bones."

"You didn't technically have to last time, Martin."

"It still really hurt!"

"I'm in," Joe said quietly.

"And me," Alice said. "Whatever happens."

The group fell silent. _Whatever happens._

Wind groaned around the top of the tower, and Joe shifted a little on the cold metal surface. The stars and sky twinkled high above, with the town spread out around them far below. One by one, lights in windows were blinking off, as the hour tended towards the new day. When picking the water tower as a meeting spot, Joe hadn't chosen it because it was secretive (or for the amazing view) – he'd picked it because it was where they'd last seen the creature in the flesh, and, by sitting up here, he'd hoped they might feel a little closer to it. A connection, of sorts, to Lillian's monster.

And the group's decision felt like an important one. Not only that they were going to keep moving forward, and digging into the mystery (_maybe digging our own graves_, Joe thought darkly), but also that they were sticking together. The experiences of that first week of summer holidays would connect them, probably for the rest of their lives. It felt like they had a duty to see that through to the end.

Obviously, Charles thought so too. "Let's make a pact," he said.

"What's that?" Cary asked.

"It's like a promise, sort of. But more important."

"Suuuure. Whatever man."

Charles glared at him. "Just because I have a reading age that's above six years old—"

"Charles, what did you want to do?" Alice interrupted.

"Um, well." He looked around. "It might be better if… I don't know. If we do something. Like hold hands."

"Uh, no Charles. I'm not holding your hand," Martin said firmly.

"Just _do _it, Martin. God."

"Okay, okay." They all shuffled forwards a little so they could reach each other comfortably. Joe reached out and took Alice's hand in his left, and Preston's in his right. Alice gave his hand a quick squeeze and he smiled at her in the darkness.

"Alright. Good." Charles gazed around the circle. "Now, we're going to make a promise. To each other. You guys don't have to say anything, but – remember what I tell you, okay?"

They nodded. Charles cleared his throat.

When he spoke, his voice was clear in the warm night air. "We promise to make sure that the truth gets out," he began. "We promise to tell people what happened, and show them everything we know. And we're going to keep on trying until the whole world knows the truth. Because… because it should know, about what happened here.

He paused, thinking for a second. The breeze whispered in the trees.

"…We also promise to find out what's happening to us. We're gonna figure out what it means, and do whatever it takes to do it. We're going to learn if there's anything else living in this universe, and if we can, we're gonna try and find it. We also promise to stay alive, and – and to not die, and to see this through to the end. But most of all…"

Charles looked each of them right in the eye. They all looked squarely back.

"Most of all, we promise to stick by each other. We're going to do everything we can to help each other out. All of us, in this circle, we're gonna keep each other safe, and stay together no matter what. Because we're friends, alright? We're _friends_, and we're in this together. And supporting each other is what friends do."

Joe nodded firmly. _Friends._ One by one, they all agreed.

Below, an owl cooed somewhere in the night. It was a cool, peaceful sound. Joe looked around the circle again – Cary, his braces glinting in the moonlight. Martin, his face oddly naked without his glasses. Preston, silent and solemn, lips compressed to a thin line. Alice, her hand still warm around his. Charles, head up, his eyes stern and clear.

Joe felt, somehow, that he was a part of everything – a part of them, like they were a part of him. Like everything was connected. A breeze touched the water tower, making it sigh, and he thought: _this is a lovely place. _The owl cooed again. It was almost as if he could fly with it, brave in the air. Off the tower, into the sky. Below, the first swirls of mist were settling on the rooftops, pale and sweet and liquid.

"…I guess we should go. Get back to our parents," Charles said slowly.

"No." Joe shook his head. "No, let's stay a while. It's nice here." _And we haven't had a chance to do this for a while._

"OK. Sure."

They dropped their hands, breaking the circle. Cary looked like he was about to say something; then shrugged, and pushed himself to his feet. Gradually, the others followed. No one said much in the darkness. Charles and Martin started packing up the projector and scattered folders. Preston walked to the edge of the tower and gripped the railing tightly, looking down at the sleeping houses.

"Come on," Alice murmured.

She led Joe over to the other side of the water tank. There, she knelt, touching the smooth metal surface. "This looks like a good spot."

"For what?"

Alice didn't answer. She just stretched out and laid down on her back – head towards the center of the tank, feet towards the edge. Her hair fanned out around her head, blonde streaks in the dark. Joe smiled, crouching, then went to lie down next to her. The metal was cool against his bare skin. He took a deep breath, settling back.

They didn't even have to look, really – just being close was nice. Lying beside each other, watching the stars. Feeling each others' presence.

Joe turned his head sideways for a moment and saw Cary walk past along the railing; Cary noticed him lying there, then raised an eyebrow at who was lying next to him.

Then he winked. "Go for it, man!" he whispered. "Don't worry, I won't look."

"What?"

"You know what I mean."

Cary smirked. Joe blushed. He turned over to look at Alice, and saw that she was grinning at him too. They stared at each other, for a moment. Understanding.

But it wasn't the right time. Not yet.

Instead, Alice leaned back, gazing upwards into the night. There were _countless_ stars up there; some big, some small, some faint, some bright, all twinkling together in the void. She raised a hand and pointed lazily at one of them.

"Do you think someone's watching us, from up there?" she asked. "Right now. At this moment."

"I hope so," Joe murmured.

"Why?"

"Because it's nice to think we aren't alone."

"Yeah." Alice smiled. "It is nice, isn't it."

Joe looked up, his heart filled with warmth, and wondered if something was looking back.

* * *

><p>(Something was. Many things, actually.)<p>

* * *

><p>Upon the very top of the Lillian town water tower, six people waited in the dark.<p>

Cary thought back on the promise they'd made, and how much it absolutely terrified him. He could still remember how he'd felt, down in the tunnels under the cemetery. It wasn't something he'd easily forget. Somehow, making a promise to go _looking_ for things like that didn't seem like such a good idea… but as Charles had said, they were in this together. No matter what.

Preston dangled his feet over the edge of the water tank, in some kind of attempt to analyse his fears. It wasn't really helping; he was still extremely anxious about falling, no matter how hard he held the railing. It was more the thought that he _could_ fall that scared him, rather than any logical probability of it happening. So instead, he looked up, and tried to find constellations in the stars.

Martin polished his glasses with his sleeve, and blinked as he perched them back upon his nose. Suddenly the world became clear again – detailed, sharp, and beautiful. He looked around at his friends, standing on top of the tank, and thought about how great it was to for them to have a sense of purpose again. Something besides just making a movie. Something real. Something _important_.

Charles sat with his back to the hills, looking over the town. He knew that Joe and Alice were lying behind him and he tried his best to ignore them. It was hard, though, not to feel a little jealous… or betrayed. But that was a bad thought. He fiddled with the film reels, turning them over and over, and remembered how he and Joe had always been best friends, and how they always would be.

Alice stared upward, gazing into nothingness. She was thinking about her father, and about their strange, weird relationship. How it'd been bad, then worse, and now how it was so much better - probably the best it had been, ever since mom had left. Not perfect, but… better. The strangest thing was who she had to thank for it; a creature from another planet. Life was weird, wasn't it?

Joe lay next to the girl he really, really liked. No, seriously. He really liked her. A _lot_. And – sitting with her, and with his friends, in the town he'd grown up in – he was happy. He really, really was.

Wind, stars, and a water tower: an oddly perfect combination.

Then Joe noticed, absently, that he was holding his pen in his hand; and that he'd written something on his skin, without quite realising it. He held his hand up in front of his face, squinting in the dark.

'_Tell them it's here,'_ it said on his palm, in messy blue handwriting.

_ What?_

Joe frowned, and wondered why he'd written it.

But whatever. It could wait till morning.

Together, they stayed there for a very long time – friends, bound by a promise. They stayed there until the sky was tinged with a dusty rose-pink glow, and the first rays of dawn touched the hilltops. Until the light painted their faces in pale fiery colours, and the town began to wake.

And then, finally, it was time to go home.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

.

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* * *

><p>End note: So… how was that, huh? It was hard to set up a new plotline in one (enormous) chapter while also trying to make it an epilogue of sorts, but I think it didn't go <em>too<em> badly. Basically, I want this to be a believable continuation, but with enough differences to make it unique, which is a difficult balancing act to pull off. Hopefully it worked! (and hopefully you're interested in reading more). Sorry for it being stupidly long, but there was a lot of stuff I wanted to include.

As for what's next, there's two things. First, some minor editing: going through the early chapters and improving them a little, and then adding some extra lines of dialogue from the script that were skipped in the movie.

Then, I'll create one final chapter that I'll use for planning/drafting purposes for the sequel. I don't know how many people are interested in Super 8 fanfic anymore – the scene's definitely faded from when I started two years ago – but if people _are_ interested, I think it'd be cool if I made the planning process public. That way, if anyone has ideas they can contribute, which could just be my sneaky way of admitting I have no idea what I'm doing. And then I guess it's new story time! Maybe? I have some other writing promises to keep first, but it's probably gonna happen.

Finally… even though A Sky of Starlight is "only" a novelisation, I am genuinely happy with it. It's been a great way to practice my writing, and I hope you guys got some enjoyment out of it too. If you do want to contact me in the meantime, you can use fanfiction PMs or the ask box at "jetpacksunrise dot tumblr dot com (forward slash) ask."

Until next time…


	26. Friends and Fireworks

_'I remember it like it was yesterday. We heard from NORAD that three contacts had come in from the Canadian border, and we were scrambled to intercept. No idea what they were at the time – except that they were fast, real fast – but one of them was slower than the others and we managed to get a lock on it over the Huron forest. Still no idea what was happening, or why we were out there. My wingman got off a missile and suddenly the thing started screaming like a banshee – that's right, _screaming_ – and emitting a real bright light. Blue. Bright blue. Blinding, even through the cockpit. The missile hit, though, thanks to either God or pure dumb luck, and the contact went down somewhere in the trees. Left a big scar on the hills. Then we were called back to base. No explanations, no nothing. I only heard later that there was a school camp group in the area at the same time, and I suppose they were the first ones who found the wreckage…'_

**- An extract from the interview records of USAF Captain Adam Ryckert, December 17th, 1985**

* * *

><p><span>Friends and Fireworks<span>

The night was thick with clouds overhead: a flat grey blanket that trapped the day's warmth and made the moon loom yellow over the horizon. In the middle of the yard, Cary knelt on the grass, fiddling with his newest creation. He took the fuse and stretched it taut between his fingers.

A match flared in the darkness. The flame danced and flickered, and hissed as he touched it to the string.

It caught. "_Yes!_" He dropped the match and leapt to his feet as the fuse raced onwards. Cary sprinted across the yard to where the others were waiting, crouched under a tree. "Move over, move over." He skidded and sat between Martin and Alice and turned to face the fire—

—works!_ Whooosh!_ The first one shot up out of its cradle and arced into the air, trailing sparks all the way.

"Woah…" Charles breathed. They followed its path with their eyes, heads tilting back. The firework flew, higher and higher, so far up it seemed like it would pierce the clouds. Preston clamped his hands over his ears in preparation.

And then it exploded: a bright burst of light followed by pure blue embers, and an almighty _CRACKKK! _that rattled the air in their chests. Alice squealed. Joe grinned, sitting next to her. The clouds glowed in a rush of fading colour. But that wasn't all… the fuse was still snaking along the grass, coiled up round and round until it hit the end of another firework that _whooshed_ up a second later. This one exploded about half-way up, sparkling furiously, and the world shone red and gold.

And so Cary's fireworks show began, painting the sky with memories of summer.

* * *

><p>His parents had organised the party for the last day of summer break. With only a few hours of freedom left, it felt like they all needed one final chance to unwind – especially considering the 'interesting' events of the past couple months. Cary's house had a large wooden deck out the front and a long table had been set up on the patio, piled high with food. Parents milled about, chatting, drinking, drawn together in that way adults are when their children become friends. The dads oohed and aahed as the fireworks continued overhead, gathered around the barbecue and the smell of sizzling steak. The mothers were just relieved that none of their kids had burnt their fingers (or, heavens forbid, lost a finger altogether).<p>

"I'm amazed the neighbours didn't complain, Sandra," Mrs. Haverford said. "The noise—"

_CRACKKK! _

_ "_—and the smoke, it's quite extraordinary."

Cary's mom laughed. "Oh, they don't mind. They're used to loud bangs coming from our house by now. And besides, who doesn't enjoy a good light show?"

"I suppose." Martin's mother was a dumpy, protective woman who couldn't help being a little uneasy about the influence 'that arsonist boy' was having on her son. Their faces were bathed in a pretty purple afterglow. "Where did you get the fireworks? Aren't they expensive? There must be dozens of them."

"Nearly a hundred," Sandra replied. "But it's not too hard when your husband owns a pyrotechnics business."

"Oh – of course."

"And law enforcement is very accommodating when you're friends with their boss… isn't that right, Jack?"

Sheriff Jack Lamb gave them a slight nod. "The police department's turning a blind eye tonight, ladies, so young Cary over there can have all the gunpowder he wants. Well, not _all_ the gunpowder he wants, that'd probably kill the lot of us, but – you know what I mean." He smiled. "It seems only fair after the town missed out on the 4th of July, on account of it being shot to pieces by armed forces at the time."

"Don't remind me! '4th of August' doesn't have quite the same ring to it, though."

"Still, it's something." Jack glanced at Cary, who was making some more adjustments to another fuse. "You've got a very talented kid there, Sandra."

"Why, thank you. I only wish he'd put a bit more of that talent into his maths homework."

_CRAACCKKK! Hissss…_

One of the fireworks soared above the pines and spat green sparks in every direction, with a sound like TV static amplified ten-fold. This caught the attention of the most recent addition to the group: Louis Dainard, sitting back in a garden chair and nursing a cold beer. The other parents weren't quite sure what to make of him and he was surrounded by a small circle of silence. For now, that suited Louis just fine. Across the yard some of the other kids were playing soccer – Charles' siblings, Preston's brother, Martin's tomboy of a sister – and every few minutes there would be a shocked gasp as the ball drifted _real_ close to the fireworks stand. The thing having the most fun, though, was probably the Lee family cat. It huddled beneath the deck and stared at the sky in pure feline panic, hissing violently at everyone who walked past.

Joe and the rest were around the side of the house, where there was a big trampoline between the washing line and a couple of trees. Cary was currently bouncing on the fabric, bubbling with nervous energy. The others were happy enough to stand by and watch.

"Dude," Charles said.

"What?" Cary replied.

"Dude, your cat."

"What about it?"

"I think it's going insane."

"Charles, shut up. My cat is _fine_."

"No, Charles is right," Preston said. "I tried to pat it earlier and it almost scratched my arm off."

"Guys. Guys. The cat's used to it." Cary's hair flopped over his eyes and he brushed it back with one hand, still bouncing. "Trust me. Pac-Man's cool."

"I can't believe you actually named your cat Pac-Man," Martin said.

"Why not? Pac-Man's awesome."

"But Pac-Man isn't a cat!"

"He's more like an abstract, amorphous representation of pure and insatiable hunger," Preston added.

"School starts _tomorrow_," Charles interrupted. "Save it for English class."

"Yeah, Preston, save it for—"

"I think Pac-Man works," Alice said. She'd been leaning against the side of the house, and now stepped forwards. "Pac-Man likes eating things, and your cat likes eating things too. I'm guessing, obviously, but… it does look pretty fat."

Cary gave Joe a flat stare. "Dude. Your girlfriend just insulted my cat."

Joe blinked. "Umm…"

"Your girlfriend. Just insulted. My cat."

"But – but Alice isn't – and your cat's—"

_CRACK! Cra-crack!_ Three fireworks went off in quick succession: blue, red and green. Joe blushed.

"Soooo… school tomorrow, huh?" Martin said, coming in with the save.

"Yeah, stuff that. We should get an extra YEAR off after what happened to us," Charles murmured. He started climbing onto the trampoline.

"What're you doing?" Cary asked.

"I'm getting onto your trampoline."

"OK, dumbass, I can see that."

"Good. Well, that's what I'm doing." Charles stood up.

"But why—"

"Just start jumping."

Cary gave him a suspicious look but soon leapt upwards, bouncing into a front-flip. Joe felt a tap on his shoulder and then heard Preston whisper in his ear: "_He's gonna double-bounce him_." Joe nodded. Alice heard too, and grinned. Because Charles was nearly twice as big as Cary, the extra weight on the trampoline would be able to launch him high into the air.

"Hey Charles," Cary said between jumps, "Since Joe and Alice – are a thing now – are you like – super sad?"

"You do _not_ know when to stop, do you," Charles replied.

"And we aren't a 'thing'," Joe said. "We're friends."

"So is everyone looking forward to ninth grade?" Martin said desperately.

"Sort of," Preston said. "I think it'll be interesting."

"We're all friends," Alice added. "Even with you, Cary."

"Ouch."

"You're welcome." She smiled sweetly.

"Hey, Cary."

"Yes Charles?"

"Have fun." And with that Charles leapt sideways off the edge of the trampoline, right before Cary landed from his bounce so that they hit the surface together, which stretched lower and lower until it almost touched the ground… then sprang back up again with enough force to throw Cary _way _too high. At the same time one of the fireworks launched in the yard, sparking out of its cradle and spiralling beautifully into the night. Cary went flying two, three, four metres into the air, arms flailing, eyes wide. The firework speared upwards. Charles was already giggling, curled into a ball as Cary reached the reached the top of his jump – somehow higher than the roof of the house – and then began the terrifying journey down. It looked like Cary hadn't bounced straight up and was falling to the side, spinning and spinning, searching for a handhold. The firework flashed. He reached and barely missed the clothesline in awful slow motion.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH! Shit shit shit shit shit—"

_CRACKK!_

* * *

><p>Cary lay in the corner of his bedroom, curled up in the foetal position. He clutched at his groin like it was a bag of diamonds, except that the diamonds were on fire and also covered in ants. He moaned softly.<p>

"Wow. I mean, I've always wondered… does it really hurt _that_ much?" Alice asked.

Cary gave her an accusing stare. "Are you a boy?"

"No."

"Do you have balls?"

"No!"

"Then don't talk. It frickin' HURTS."

"Okay! Okay. Can we… help with anything?"

"No. Unless you feel like punching Charles for me."

Charles raised his hands. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean for that to – for you to land like that. I'm really sorry. That was bad. And don't forget, I can sympathise."

Cary moaned again. "I guess I did get you extra bad, that one time on camp."

"Yeah."

"You were crying afterwards."

"What? No I wasn't—"

"_Please_ don't bring that up," Martin interrupted. "That entire thing was like the 'Empire Strikes Back' of camps. Everyone was either betrayed, or put in prison, or got one of their hands cut off."

"Umm…" Alice gave Joe a 'please explain?' look.

"A few months ago there was this phase where all the boys would go around trying to hit each other in the – in the – you know. It got pretty bad. School camp was a nightmare."

"_Why_?"

Preston shrugged. "Adolescent males trying to assert their dominance? Or maybe boys are just stupid."

"Oh, trust me, girls are terrible too," Alice replied. "You should see some of the stuff that happens in the bathrooms. It's bad news."

"Speaking of bad news," Charles began, "I got a letter from the movie competition that we entered…"

Everyone turned to face him. "When!?" Joe asked.

"A few days ago."

"What? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was waiting for a good time!"

"This totally isn't a good time," Cary groaned.

"So, did we win?" Alice asked.

"I bet we didn't," Martin replied. "The zombie plot made absolutely no sense."

"Weeeellll…" Charles paused. "We did win _something_. Wait here." He got up and ran out the door.

Cary's room was surprisingly neat. The bed (which Martin and Preston were sitting on) was well made, with a plain bright red quilt. Alice sat at his desk – empty except for a small telescope and some of the military props they'd used during filming. The shelf was stacked with books and magazines, a whole row of National Geographic mixed in with assorted Marvel comics. Cary lay on the cream-coloured woollen rug, which Joe had also taken a seat on, and the only real mess was by the wall under the window, where a few piles of unidentified (probably dangerous) powder were scattered on the floorboards. At the foot of the bed was a water dish and small basket for Pac-Man. The most interesting thing was the big poster that hung on one of the pale green walls.

Half a minute later Charles came running back, an envelope in his hands. "Drumroll please." Joe obliged by stamping his feet on the carpet and Charles pulled out the letter with a flourish.

It wasn't a letter, but a certificate:

**OHIO YOUNG ARTISTS FUND: AMATEUR FILM CONTEST**

_**ENCOURAGEMENT AWARD**_

**Charles Kaznyk**

"We did get something," Preston murmured. "Good work, Charles."

Martin didn't seem impressed. "An encouragement award? That only means they saw our entry and felt sorry for us. They give those out to everyone."

Joe silently agreed with him. _After my mom died, I think I got an encouragement award every week at school for about three months._

"'The Ohio Young Artists Fund has elected to honour you with an Encouragement Award in our annual amateur film contest'," Charles recited. "Your film, THE CASE, demonstrates talent and enthusiasm from those involved, and with some more work and refinement we look forward to seeing your future productions. The judging panel was especially taken with the fine acting on display from your young cast and your innovative special effects. Sincere congratulations, the Ohio Young Artists Fund."

"That sounded… decent," Alice said, surprised. "They liked the acting."

Cary had recovered enough to sit up. "Yeah, that's cool Charles. We were never going to win anyway."

"You said it yourself," Joe added. "The whole production value thing, how we're competing with sixteen year olds, with better cameras, better scripts…"

"Yeah, I guess. I thought we had a shot though, I really did."

"I'm just happy we finished it," Preston said.

"I'm just happy it's over," Martin shot back.

"Martin, I never _forced_ you to act in my movie."

"Charles, you totally did."

"Whatever. You enjoyed it."

"…Maybe. Sometimes. Some of it was cool."

"So you guys know what this award means, right?" Alice interjected.

"…No?"

"It means we have to make another movie."

There was a pause.

"Another movie," Martin said flatly.

"Another movie!" Charles said excitedly.

"I don't even want to _think_ about a movie project until first term's done," Preston said.

"Can it be sci-fi this time?" Joe asked. "I really want to try out the alien makeup."

"I'm in as long as there's explosions," Cary replied. "Was that predictable? That was probably predictable. But seriously guys, let's get out of my stupid room – we can talk about it later. We're supposed to be having fun, remember?"

* * *

><p>Cary ushered them out into the hallway. As they left, Alice couldn't help but take a closer look at the single poster on Cary's bedroom wall. 'DON'T BE STUPID' it said, in big black letters; below was a drawing of what looked like a burning building, with a cartoon sad face next to it. For some reason, she felt she'd seen something similar previously. <em>Weird.<em>

Charles was the only one left in the hall, following the others as they rushed outside.

"Charles! Wait!" she called out.

He turned, surprised. "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask you something. You know that poster in Cary's room?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering what it's for."

Charles looked away, a little uneasily. "You should probably ask him about that. Not me."

Alice frowned uncertainly. "Okay…"

"Basically, Cary has a 'problem' where he often does things without thinking about the consequences. And sometimes – sometimes that ends badly." He sighed. "I guess he won't mind too much if I tell you. Remember that story on the news last year, where there was that house that burned down near the school?"

"I think so."

"Well, that was Cary's house."

"Oh."

"He was making a sparkler bomb and it got out of hand. _Really_ out of hand. He was home alone with his little sister, and there was a fire, and… I don't know. He won't talk about that part. They got out, but the house was wrecked completely, so they moved to this place around Christmas. I think the poster is a reminder."

"We all need them, sometimes," Alice murmured.

"Yeah. But don't tell him I told you."

"I won't." She paused. Charles stood ahead of her in the darkened hallway, his face half in shadow, and she could see the worry in his eyes. It suddenly struck her how vulnerable he seemed; he was always trying to be strong, and loud, and a leader, but the past month had affected everyone equally. In the end, they were just a bunch of people who'd been thrown together, who now cared for each other, and maybe it was Charles who cared the most. "Hey, Charles…"

"What?"

"I just wanted to say that you're a great friend."

"Uh – thanks."

"And I'm really glad you asked me to be in your movie."

He smiled. "I'm really glad you said yes."

"So am I. It's been super fun. And… you should be very proud. Everyone likes you, you know? You're brave, and smart, and nice. But I guess… what I'm also getting at, is that…" Alice trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"…is that Joe's nice too," Charles finished for her.

"Yeah." Her voice sounded very small.

"That's okay," Charles said. "Joe's my friend too. We'd better go outside, everyone's probably wondering where we are."

"Yeah. Sure."

* * *

><p>As he sat in his chair, sipping his beer, Louis Dainard realised that he didn't actually <em>know<em> any of these people. Barely knew their names. He'd seen a few of them around town, in passing, and he vaguely recognised their kids, but – after Evelyn had walked out, he'd stopped wanting to see people (or maybe people had stopped wanting to see him). He'd lost his friends. Others had moved on. The only remainders were one or two work buddies, the regulars at the bar, and…

"Mind if I put my feet up?" Jack asked.

He glanced upwards. Jack didn't wait for an answer and dumped his chair next to Louis's, sinking into it with a contented sigh. "Those Kaznyks sure do talk a lot," he muttered.

"Seems like it," Louis agreed.

For a moment, both men were content to sit and hold their drinks. They had a nice view of the Lees' backyard: dry flowerbeds, a rough brick path, the grass sloping gently downwards to where it met the water. The property was on Lillian's outskirts, in a new block that backed onto one of the small rivers that ran through the hills. A faint smoky haze remained from Cary's fireworks (and the burnt patches on the lawn would probably stick around for weeks).

"Say, Louis… where're you from, originally? I never thought you were a Lillian native."

"I'm not. We moved here about eight years ago."

"From where?"

"Massachusetts."

"Hmm. Can't say I've ever been there. Nice place?"

Louis shrugged. "Sure, it was nice enough."

"Nice enough?" Jack spread his hands. "C'mon, you gotta give me a little more than that!"

"I don't know – I guess the weather was alright? Too crowded for me, though. In the cities."

"Okay, fine. Anywhere before that?"

"Virginia, but only for a of couple years. Nice landscapes." Louis pointed his beer at the hills. "A bit like here."

"Huh, interesting… So you've moved a fair bit, then."

"Sure," Louis said, smiling a little. "Why the questions all of a sudden? You lookin' for a place to run away to?"

"No, no, of course not. I'm curious is all. You're a very mysterious person, Louis."

"You might think I'm mysterious, but there isn't much worth knowing about me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. _Everyone's_ interesting if you know what to ask 'em."

At that moment, Alice walked by, closely followed by Charles. It looked like they were walking down to the river; the others were already standing near the bank. Her hair glowed silver in the lamplight.

"You must be proud of her," Jack said.

"She does OK. She works hard."

"That's all you can ask for, isn't it?"

"I s'pose. But she's becoming more like her mom every day," Louis replied.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I… I don't know." He shook his head sadly. "Both, probably. But every day seems to pass quicker than the last, and before I know it I feel like she'll be gone."

"I feel you," Jack agreed, "It's the same with Joe. I guess we'd all better start thinkin' about the future…"

* * *

><p>Joe dipped his toes in the river. It was warm, even after the sun had gone down, and the water was black and calm in the moonlight. "Feels pretty good!" he called out.<p>

"Are you sure this is safe?" Martin asked. "There could be alligators in there."

"Or sharp sticks, or rocks. I think that's more likely," Preston said.

"Woooooohh!" Cary sprinted past in a blur and whipped off his shirt, and before you could say 'don't be stupid' he cannonballed into the water. Joe spluttered as the splash hit his face. "Hey!"

Cary swam out to the middle, then came up for air. "Come on, guys! It's great!" he shouted. "I swim here all the time, the bottom's really smooth! You can stand the whole way!"

The river was only around ten metres wide, and the banks had been cleared of overhanging trees and grass. Joe caught Charles' eye, who shrugged as if to say: _Have you got a better idea?_ There weren't many good swimming spots around Lillian, and the night was warm enough to make a dip sound very attractive. Cary kicked his feet and launched a huge spray of water at them. "Retards! Hurry up! Are you coming in or what?"

At that, the boys began taking off their shirts. Shoes were thrown into a pile a couple of metres from the shore, together with watches and bits of gum and other assorted pocket-rubbish. Preston had apparently been carrying around half a fortune in dimes which he promptly dumped on the grass.

Joe noticed Alice standing silently behind him. "You're not coming?"

"I, uh… I kind of need a swimsuit." She grinned. "I'll be fine. Besides, _someone_ needs to tell the adults where you are."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Thanks." He paused. "Are you sure you—"

"Joe, it's okay. Have fun." She reached out and flicked his chest, then started walking up the hill to the house.

_Huh. That was weird. _He stood for a moment, thinking.

Then he stepped forward and dived into the water, just in time for the biggest splash-war that Lillian had ever seen.

* * *

><p>"Boys, huh?" Peggy Kaznyk said.<p>

"Boys," Alice said in agreement.

The two girls sat next to each other on the grass, looking down at the river. The centre was a shadowy blur of water and movement; it was hard to see exactly what was going on, but it was definitely producing a lot of laughter (and the occasional swearword).

Charles' middle sister was not impressed. "Ugh, they're so annoying. You're fourteen, right?"

"Yep."

"Well, I'm twelve. Does it get any better?"

Alice thought for a second. "It depends. I mean, girls, boys, they're all people – you just have to find the right ones."

"Hm. I see." Peggy turned gloomily back to the river, and the stars, and together they contemplated the mysteries of the universe.

* * *

><p>Joe ducked under the water, twisting around. Someone was following him but he didn't know who. Probably Charles. His feet brushed across the bottom, feeling the pebbles worn smooth by the river, then he jumped upwards and launched a huge splash behind him.<p>

The sheet of water hit Charles square in the face. He coughed and flailed his arms in retaliation. "Aah! That was NOT fair!"

"Totally was." Joe gave him another splash for good measure and dived back under. It was impossible to see anything in the water at night, but you could at least tell where people were from the waves. He swam forwards for a couple of metres, broke the surface and was immediately attacked from two directions.

"Ow!" He covered his eyes and spun around, realising that come up between Martin and Cary. They were, as usual, having a small disagreement.

"Suck on this!" Cary shouted. He chucked a few rapid-fire shots at Martin.

"Suck on your_self_!" Martin shouted back. "Actually, that sounds kinda gross—" Even without his glasses Martin was quick enough to dodge and retorted with a splash of his own. Joe was caught in the crossfire and had to retreat, jumping back. He turned around and saw Preston off to the side, who hurriedly raised his hands.

"No no no no no, I'm on your side. Truce?"

Joe shrugged. "Sure, truce. Wanna help me get Charles?"

"Okay."

Then he saw Preston's eyes go wide, heard a _rush_ behind him and a huge weight slammed into Joe's back. He barely had time to gasp for breath before it pushed him under. Arms wrapped around his chest. Joe struggled in the water, trying to slip free, but Charles' grip was too strong and they both fell to the side, floating, spinning, surrounded by bubbles. Then another weight hit – Joe guessed it was Preston – and the impact separated them and sent him spluttering to the surface.

"Charles, that _hurt_," Joe said, coughing.

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Sorry," he grinned. "Does that mean I win?"

"Nope, not even close."

A few metres away Cary was pushing through the river, chasing Martin towards the far bank. Despite his best efforts, he was falling behind, thanks to Martin's longer legs. "Hey – wait – come back here!" Then, suddenly, he stopped dead in the water. "Martin…" he said quietly.

"What?"

"There's a leech on your back."

"…no there's not."

"I'm serious."

"Knock it off, Cary!"

"No, I'm serious! It's right there!" He did sound unusually grim.

Martin stopped swimming and reached behind him worriedly. "I can't _feel _anything there… uh, guys? Is he lying?"

Joe and the others rushed over excitedly and spent a long, thoughtful moment staring at Martin's back, floating in the middle of the river. His skin was pale in the moonlight.

"_Ew_," Charles muttered eventually.

"Gross," Joe agreed.

"What is it?" Martin asked. "Guys, what is it?"

Preston frowned, leaning closer. "I'm not sure… but if it's a leech, then it might be the biggest leech I've ever seen—

"AAAAAHH! Get it off, get it off!"

"Martin, calm down! Stand still and we can pull it off you!" Charles shouted.

"Stand still? You want me to stand still while this thing is SUCKING my BLOOD?" Martin jumped up and desperately started trying to wipe his back. Cary was already being very helpful and had collapsed into fits of laughter.

"Hahahaha! Hahaha!"

"Charles, get it off me!"

"I can't pull it off if you're jumping around like that! Joe, could you help?"

Joe swam forwards and grabbed Martin's arms. Charles swept his hand back. Preston winced at what was about to come. "Technically, I don't _think_ I lied_,_" he told himself.

"Martin, hold still. I'm getting it off, alright?"

"Okay, okay, hurry up—"

Charles leaned forwards and slapped Martin as hard as he could right between the shoulderblades. It sounded like a thunderclap. Martin pitched face-first into the river, and came up a moment later spitting water and clutching his back.

"Ow! OW!"

Cary fell over laughing again. "Haha, I can't believe you fell for it! That was mint!"

Martin turned on him with sudden anger. "Cary, you asshole! You're such an asshole! Why would you DO that?"

"Because it's funny? Hahahahaha!"

Charles' red handprint was perfectly outlined on Martin's skin. Joe imagined the mark would probably stay for a couple of days; the sound had been super loud. Martin definitely looked pretty furious. But the sound… that _clap_ brought to mind a weird sense of déjà vu, as if he'd heard it before, but—

And suddenly Joe was somewhere else: _A forest. Dark pine. The air smells of wet, decaying leaves and burning plastic_

_It is silent._

_Then: a supersonic _crack_ as a light screams across the sky. It sounds like a thunderclap, like the world breaking in half. Startled birds leap from branches into flight. The afterimage of the light sketches a path behind his eyelids._

_Then: a flash on the horizon. The trees shiver, as if they are alive, and afraid._

And that was it. Joe blinked. His view returned to the shadowy riverbank, where Martin was enthusiastically pretending to drown Cary like a rat. The smaller boy giggled uncontrollably while making half-hearted attempts to get away.

"Hey, everyone," Joe said, "I was wondering… has anyone seen anything weird recently?"

Martin paused, his hands around Cary's neck. "You mean like freaky visions of an alien invasion?"

"Um – yeah, exactly."

"Nope."

The strangling resumed.

"Charles? Preston?" Joe asked.

"No, not since a few weeks ago. When we saw those – those things at the same time," Charles said.

"Me neither," Preston answered.

"Oh. Okay."

"Why?"

"Just wondering." Joe shivered and did his best to shrug the feeling off. He glanced up and down the river, at the new houses with lights in their windows, at the old trees with wind in their leaves, at the long grass on the banks and the power lines leading towards town. The shadows seemed to have a new air of menace about them; as if they were hiding something…

"Boys, time to come in! We're packing up!" a voice called out. It was Cary's mother, waving at them from the top of the hill. "There's some towels inside, you can dry yourselves off!"

"Cool, thanks mom!" Cary yelled in reply.

They waited for a moment in the water, the fight temporarily forgotten. Thoughts turned to tomorrow, and teachers, and timetables, and cafeteria food, and – saddest of all – no more sleep-ins.

"I guess we're done then," Charles said.

"Yep, we're done," Preston said. "Break's over."

"Oh, _maaan_. I really don't feel like going to school tomorrow," Martin groaned.

"Ugh. School."

Joe smiled faintly. "It was fun, though."

"Yeah," Charles agreed. "It's been cool."

Together, they climbed out of the water, and began the long walk back to the house.

* * *

><p>Cary's parents made a good team. Sandra handled the washing, and Derek handled the drying, and in no time the dishes were sparkling clean and stacked away in their cupboards.<p>

"It's good to see him having fun again, isn't it?" Sandra said brightly.

"Definitely. Is he asleep?"

"Even Cary doesn't have infinite energy."

Derek laughed. "I doubt that. But thanks for organising this" – he gestured at the leftovers still piled on the table – "_magnificent_ party. It was good to see everyone. And the kids, too."

"My pleasure, 'dearest husband'. Thanks for looking after her."

Together, they glanced at the youngest member of the family – Cary's three-year-old sister, currently fast asleep on the couch. She was the spitting image of her brother at that age, right down to the shoulder-length blonde hair and slightly crooked teeth.

"Honestly, she slept the whole time," Derek replied. "I only had to check on her once or twice."

"Even through the fireworks?"

"Even through the fireworks."

"Huh," Sandra said, frowning. "Well, whatever happens, I think we can consider it a success if this one doesn't burn the house down."

* * *

><p>They spent most of the drive home in comfortable silence – Joe staring out the window as the town passed by, Jack concentrating on the road. The seats of the police cruiser squeaked a little as they rounded each corner, in their familiar, reassuring way. Most of his friends found it strange, being driven places in a police car, but Joe had gotten used to it. <em>Mom liked it too<em>, he remembered. _She said it made her feel safe. She said the other ladies were all secretly jealous of her 'hunky sheriff husband', and then dad would get embarrassed, and then she'd flick his badge and say, 'thanks for being you'. _Joe realised that was what he'd been reminded of – when Alice had randomly, absent-mindedly flicked his chest before they'd gone swimming in the river.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Jack asked suddenly.

Joe shook his head, back to the present. "Yeah. Yeah, it was nice."

"That's good. God knows, you guys deserve it." His dad leaned back, one hand on the wheel as another car passed them by. It was heading out of town, back towards Cary's place. "Say, Joe… I've got a question for you."

"What is it?"

"Well, maybe it's not a question, but – somethin' to consider. I've been thinking… and your mom was thinking about it too, before she passed…" Jack trailed off. For a moment, he focused on driving, as if expecting something to appear on the road and instantly make things easier. Nothing did. Eventually, painfully, he said: "How would you feel if we moved out of Lillian?"

Joe blinked in surprise. "What?"

"It's just that we've been in Lillian since you were born, and, I don't know… it's a nice town, with nice people, but there's only a certain amount you can do here. It's a small place. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Not really…"

"Basically, your mom and I were thinking about your future," Jack said. He kept looking forward, refusing to meet Joe's stare. "We wanted – _I_ want to make sure you get the best opportunities you can, and we realised that you can't do that here. Not in the same way. Sure, some people live and die here, and they're happy, but… we didn't want that for you. We wanted somethin' better. Now, I know you like it here, and you've got your friends here, and obviously we wouldn't move right away. Maybe it'd be after you finish school. Or maybe when you're in senior high. You could go to a good college, a good university. I could join another police department."

"Where would we move to?" Joe asked quietly.

"I haven't really thought about it. California, maybe, or Illinois. I've heard Massachusetts is nice."

Joe turned away, gazing out the window. Dark buildings passed by on either side, many still bearing scorchmarks or undergoing repair work from the military attack. Finally, the car turned onto the sloping street that he and Charles called home.

"I want the best for you. That's all. I hope you understand that."

"Okay."

"And I'm not asking for a decision right away, but… think about it, alright? Just give it some thought."

"Yeah. I will." _Although I really don't want to._

"Thanks, Joe."

They pulled into the driveway. Joe got out of the car, and walked up the stairs, and for some reason, as he opened the door to the empty, quiet house – the only thing he could think about was fireworks.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been such a long time since I updated this. I got sidetracked by trying to write my own original novel, and then THAT got sidetracked by engineering and university work. I'm nearly at the end of my degree which means things are getting pretty busy.<em>

_But! Super 8 has been kicking around in my head this whole time, and I couldn't let an entire year go past without writing another chapter. Obviously I can't make any promises about when the _next _chapter is coming, but hopefully it'll be a little sooner. (If anyone's got a spare time turner lying around, let me know!)_

_And here's a HOT NEXT CHAPTER TEASE: It's new female character time! Because Alice is cool, but she'd be even cooler if she had another friend to kick ass with…_


	27. The First Day

_'I miss the way summer used to feel like an eternity. It stretched out before you and you couldn't even conceive of it being over. When you went back to school you'd be a little bit taller, and all your friends would too. They'd all look just a little different, and have so many stories, but that all seemed so far off, like it would never happen, because summer lasts forever.'_

**- An excerpt from an English project on biographical writing, submitted by Alice Dainard on August 22nd, 1981**

* * *

><p><span>The First Day<span>

**8:35AM**

Joe had walked nearly the whole way to school before he saw the army jeep on the corner. It was parked on the footpath about halfway down the hillside, allowing it a watchful view of the school's brown brick buildings and dry green fields. A constant stream of children were forced to step onto the road to avoid it, giving the vehicle a curious glance as they passed – it was hard to miss 'U.S. AIR FORCE' stencilled on the hood – but the dark tinted windows meant that its occupants stayed hidden from prying eyes.

When Joe reached it, however, the passenger-side door swung open. Lieutenant Forman stepped out and beckoned. "Joe, wait a second."

He gave half a thought to ignoring it – but, as he'd learned, pissing off the military usually had consequences. So, he stopped and waited before the Lieutenant, schoolbag slung over one shoulder. Forman whispered something to driver of the jeep, then led him over to a piece of shade beneath a nearby tree.

"How are you doing?" the Lieutenant asked, not unkindly.

That was his greatest trick, Joe knew: those eyes, that smile, the way he pretended to be your friend. _'I am your friend,' _he'd insist, in the harsh light of that little white room at the base. _'We care about you. We want to make sure you know what really happened.'_ Their interrogation sessions were only once a week nowadays, but that still felt like far too often.

"Fine," Joe said curtly.

"That's good. First day of school?"

"Yep."

"Good good good. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. All that… learning." Forman grinned, flashing his teeth. "First, however, I wanted to ask you some questions."

_Of course_, Joe thought. _And it's always the same ones, too._

"What happened on the main street, Joe?"

"There were lots of things flying, lots of metal stuff. The military was testing a magnetic weapon and it got out of control," he recited.

"And the ship you saw? What was that?"

"An experimental plane that was carrying the weapon."

"People say that there was some kind of… creature, terrorising the town. Can you explain what it was?"

"It might've been a rabid bear from the forest."

"Perhaps. Where were you, on that night that everything happened?"

"We were evacuated to Greenville. I went back to Lillian to find my dog."

"And what did you see there?"

"Not much. Lights, some army trucks. It's hard to remember."

"Mmm. It was almost two months ago now, wasn't it?"

Joe nodded.

"Such a long time… I'm sure the details are fuzzy," Forman mused. "Perhaps that's for the best." He stood there, thinking, staring into nothingness. Joe waited. His schoolbag was digging into his shoulders, full of stuff he intended to dump in his locker.

"Sorry, um… I have to get to class," he said eventually.

"Oh, of course! But first – a _small_ word of warning." Suddenly, the lieutenant wasn't smiling. "I want you to remember our little chats, Joe. Remember all that time we spent at the base, going over the truth. People at school will ask you questions, Joe. They'll be interested. They'll have heard rumours. They'll turn to _you_ for answers. I want you to tell them the truth; the truth, as we have discussed. If you do not…" Forman paused, and gave a sad sigh. "If you do not, there will be severe consequences. Very severe. In fact, I doubt that you or your friends would ever see the light of day again. It is hard to make children disappear, but not impossible. Do you catch my drift?"

Joe swallowed. _Unfortunately, I think I do._

Then, abruptly, the lieutenant was all smiles again. "That is, of course, if anyone believes you! Have a good day at school, Joe. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

Forman walked casually back to the jeep and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. Joe waited for the engine to start but the jeep just sat there silently – perhaps it was waiting for another person of interest to come by. _I know Charles walks to school this way…_

Joe shook his head, and forced himself to start moving again. It was no use dwelling on it; the more normal they all behaved, the less suspicious the army would be. And, if the army was less suspicious, it meant they had more freedom to go digging. The promise they'd made on the water tower several weeks ago was a frequent echo in his mind: _'We promise to make sure the truth gets out… to find out what's happening to us… to learn if there's anything else living in this universe…_

_…we also promise to stay alive.' _

That was the most important promise, in the end – _as long as we're alive, the other stuff can wait._ _For the moment. _Then he passed through the school's front gate, and suddenly there were other things to think about.

A crush of students milled about the parking lot, converging towards the entrance of the main building. Joe joined them, dodging cars and buses. Horns honked amid the buzz of excited conversation. High above them, an American flag swung lazily in the breeze. It was oddly similar to the last day of eighth grade a couple months ago, except that now everyone was walking back in instead of out (and no one seemed _quite_ as happy about it). 'Welcome back!' the noticeboard announced brightly. He realised that he was even wearing the same clothes – blue jeans, green shirt – although, unless it was his imagination, they did seem to fit a bit tighter…

"Joe, wait up!" Charles appeared out of the crowd in his traditional yellow jacket, furiously stuffing something into his bag. They fell into step, Charles' longer stride matching Joe's shorter one. "Did you get stopped too?" Charles asked.

"Yeah, on the hill. They _really _don't want us to say anything."

"Obviously. You can't blame them, after what we saw them do."

"…Are you going to say anything?" Joe asked.

"What, are you insane? Of course not, I haven't got a death wish." Charles pushed through the main doors, his bigger frame parting the crowd. Joe followed close behind him. Inside it was even busier, hundreds of students moving this way and that in a chaotic spiral of humanity. There were only two high schools in Lillian – this one, plus the religious school across town – which meant that both were pretty packed. Joe glanced at the clock above the reception desk. _8:45_. _Still got ten minutes. _Together they began walking down the hall to their lockers, shoes squeaking on the dimpled rubber floor.

"So I've been thinking about our movie," Charles began.

"The old one or a new one?"

"New one."

"That was quick," Joe replied. He stepped over someone's dropped lunchbox.

"Yeah. But it's hard not to get excited, you know?"

"Sure, I understand. Did you you have any cool ideas?"

"A ton," Charles said. "But there was one I kept coming back to, over and over – I didn't get to sleep until 3AM, I was thinking so much about it—"

He accidentally bumped into pack of tenth graders, nearly knocking them over. One of the girls tripped on her bag and shot him a venomous glare.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Oops. Sorry." Charles let out a huge yawn.

"You're gonna have a fun day," Joe murmured.

"Whatever, it was worth it," he retorted. "Anyway, this idea… it was about time travel."

"Time travel? Like in Star Trek?"

"Not really. It's different. Like, I was thinking, what if you had a time machine—"

"Okay."

"—but instead of jumping thirty years through time or something, you only jumped one day back—"

"Uh-huh."

"—because you're trying to change something bad that happens. Except that you can't figure out _how_ to change it, so you keep jumping back in time over and over again, reliving this day, trying to stop this one thing from happening. And every time you jump, you do something different, and the day changes a little bit, until finally… well, I don't know. I haven't figured that out yet."

"Riiiggght." Joe frowned. "Wouldn't that be boring? Seeing the same day over and over again?"

"Not if you did a good job. Because it'd be interesting to see how things change, right?"

"Sure, okay. But what's the bad thing at the start that this guy's trying to prevent?"

"I haven't figured that out yet either. It could be mint, though - a better story."

"With better production value," Joe added.

"Yeah, with better production value. Where's your new locker?"

"Number #179. It's near biology, I think."

"Cool, mine's near the music rooms. See you later." Charles yawned again, then exited through the nearest doorway. Joe waved and kept on walking.

Biology was at the eastern end of the school, in a block with the other science classrooms. It was connected to the main building by a covered walkway and Joe's locker was half-way down, close to Dr. Woodward's old room; it seemed a little old and rusty, but the locker itself was fairly clean (some kids had found dead birds in theirs last year, so it was worth looking on the bright side). He started unloading the contents of his bag: notebooks, textbooks, blank files, plastic sleeves, a whole bunch of other stationary he'd probably never use. He tried to remember how his timetable went before realising he'd written it down earlier, and he took out the sheet and stuck it to the inside of the door. First up was biology, which was nice and convenient – then math, then gym…

"Hey. You're Joe Lamb, right?"

A line from a spy movie sprang into his head: _'I might be, I might not be. Who wants to know?_' To avoid sounding like too much of a dork, instead he settled on, "Yeah?"

The guy asking was tall, well-built, with swept-back blonde hair and a strong gaze. He was wearing a sports jersey and Joe vaguely recognised him – his name was Tim, or Todd or something, and he was on the basketball team. _One of the cool kids._ Puberty had been kind to him, or maybe he worked out a lot. He leaned on the locker next to Joe's, awkwardly close, one arm dangling loosely by his side.

"Huh," he grunted, staring at Joe's face.

"Um… do I know you?" Joe asked, confused.

"No, I don't think so."

"Um…"

"Interesting." His voice was smooth, but kind of whiny at the same time. "I want you to know something, Joe."

"What?

"I really fuckin' hate you."

And with that, he walked off down the hallway, leaving Joe wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *

><p><strong>9:50AM<strong>

* * *

><p>Mr. Lacovara was dressed in a slightly-too-large brown suit complemented by a spotty red tie, and its pale, faded colour rather matched his personality. He clasped his hands in front of him and creased his forehead, as if he were a priest imparting a nugget of great wisdom.<p>

"Natural selection is a process in which weak and inferior genes are weeded out of the gene pool. Many of you may know this concept by its more popular _nom de plume_, 'survival of the fittest.' This refers to the supposed greater probability that 'fit' as opposed to 'unfit' individuals will survive certain tests…"

As the biology teacher droned on, Joe let his mind wander. Usually you didn't expect to learn much on the first day of school, but it appeared this was an exception – a list of organisms and their evolutionary traits was already scrawled on the blackboard. The rest of the classroom was pretty typical, with desks arranged in pairs and walls covered in posters and cell diagrams. Chunky microscopes sat at the end of each row. A few terrariums were set up on shelves at the back. Joe sat next to Cary and they shared a textbook between them, open to a page half-way through; at the desk in front, Charles was already struggling to stay awake. _Man, if it's this bad on the _first_ day, imagine what it'll be like in two months time._

"Variation exists within all populations of organisms. This occurs partly because random mutations arise in the genome of an individual organism, and these mutations can be passed to offspring. Individuals with certain traits may survive and reproduce more than individuals with other, less successful, variants. Therefore, the population evolves."

_Tap tap tap!_ A knock on the door.

"Why, that might be Mister Darwin now!" their teacher suggested brightly. He strode across and pushed the door open, revealing—

A girl, who cautiously poked her head into the classroom. She was short-ish, with Asian features and black hair tied loosely in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a light grey shirt and glanced around with a neutral expression. (The boys immediately sat up straighter, staring at the new arrival with interest. The girls mostly looked suspicious. It was high school, after all.)

The girl handed a note to Mr. Lacovara. "Hi, I'm Rachel Yukimura. I'm a transfer student," she explained quietly.

"Oh! Well, uh – grab a free seat! Always room for another head on the chopping block." The teacher smiled kindly as Rachel entered and she made her way down the central aisle, holding her file to her chest.

_A new girl? That's cool_, Joe thought.

Charles obviously thought so too, and gave her (what he imagined was) a sophisticated nod as she walked past. Cary did his best not to stare. There were a couple of empty chairs at the back and Rachel sat down in one of them, next to one of the loner boys who couldn't believe his luck. She kept her eyes down and pulled out her textbook.

"Where we were? Oh, yes – therefore the population evolves, and gains a useful trait. To illustrate this point, we will be using the second half of this class to perform a short dissection—"

"_Ewwww!" _Groans echoed around the classroom, plus one excited "Yes!"

"—a _dissection_ of a cow's eye, which you will be undertaking in pairs. I want you to note down the parts of the eye and think about how they may have been shaped by evolution. Your answers will not be assessed; this is purely for your own learning. Now, because you are in high school and should be making new friends, _I_ will be assigning groups."

More groans, but Mr. Lacovara was a pro and pushed right through. He started pointing at random. "You two! You're working together. And you, and you. And Joe, you're not too weird. You can work with – I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Rachel," she replied.

"Sorry, of course. Joe, you can work with Rachel."

* * *

><p>The cow's eye stared at them gloomily from its small silver dish, almost like it was accusing them of something. It was wet, slimy, pale pink, surrounded by a few scraps of flesh and muscle. Joe picked up the scalpel distastefully. He wasn't usually that squeamish, but something about the eye's rubbery texture was very off-putting.<p>

"Do you want me to do it?" Rachel asked quietly.

"Um… only if you want to," Joe said.

"It's not a problem. I like this stuff." She shrugged, and Joe handed her the scalpel. With confident efficiency, she held the eye in place with one gloved hand and made a slice across the front. Some sort of clear liquid immediately began seeping out.

"Where are you from, originally?" Joe asked.

"I was born in Japan. But we moved here when I was very young."

"Cool." _That checks out, _he thought. She looked Japanese, but the accent was definitely American. Rachel turned the eye over, making small, precise movements. "I guess I'd better write this down," Joe said.

"Sure."

He pulled out his notebook and started trying to explain what was happening. _Underneath the first floppy pink bit is another floppy pink bit, and then another slightly harder clear bit, and then this weird black stuff on the inside…_

Rachel kept quiet. She seemed quiet, overall. Confident in what she was doing, but also shy at the same time, like she was trying to do her job without causing offence. _Focused_. That was the word. Her lips were pursed in concentration. And up close, Joe couldn't help noticing that she was actually kind of pretty – shorter, and a little stockier than Alice, but her sharp black eyebrows hovered over thoughtful eyes, and even if she didn't smile too often, her face lit up when she did. _Like someone who might be a good friend, once you get to know them._

"That's probably the lens," Joe pointed out. "That see-through thing."

"I think you're right. Do you want to keep it separate?"

"Yeah, we should." Joe picked up the small, clear oval and dropped it in another dish. "So if you were born in Japan…"

"Mmm."

"…do you have, like, a Japanese name too?"

"Yes. It's Ryoko," she said.

"Ryoko. That's cool."

"Thanks, but call me Rachel." She put down the scalpel and wiped her gloves on a paper towel. "It's usually easier. You're Joe, aren't you?"

"Yep." He grinned. "Much more boring."

"I don't know. Boring can be nice."

"Definitely, you can say that again. It's been a weird few months around here."

Rachel paused, looking at him curiously. "Weird? In what way?"

"Um, honestly? It's hard to explain. It… it doesn't really matter, if you just moved here."

"Mmm." She picked up the scalpel again and started cutting. The eye was slowly separated into amorphous blobs of flesh amid the harsh smell of disinfectant. It felt like an ignominious end for – as Mr. Lacovara kept pointing out – the final product of millions of years of evolution. Joe couldn't help but remember another creature; one much larger than a cow, but with the same black, wet eyes, and he wondered if scientists had ever dissected pieces of _it_ with the same clinical detachment.

* * *

><p><strong>12:20PM<strong>

* * *

><p>Preston looked down at his lunch tray critically. It contained a bun, flavoured milk, sickly-looking peas, mashed potato (cold) and some brown, meaty slop called 'stew' that the lunch lady had just spooned onto his plate. A cow's eye might have been a better option. Nevertheless, he forced a smile, said 'thanks' and started making his way towards their usual spot.<p>

The cafeteria was a square, grey room filled with circular tables and cheap plastic chairs. The kitchen and drink dispensers were arranged down one side and queues of students patiently made their way along the line. Long rows of fluorescent lights criss-crossed the ceiling, complementing the windows in the far wall. The room hummed with constant conversation; maybe half the students brought lunch from home, while the remainder were forced to rely on whatever the cafeteria was experimenting with. Preston made a quick detour to grab some cutlery when someone suddenly bumped his shoulder. He staggered sideways, nearly dropping the tray.

"Hey, pussy! How was math camp this year?"

"I told you, Ben, I didn't go," Preston muttered.

Ben Huxley wasn't the kind of bully to be deterred by a simple 'no'. "Were you too dumb?"

"Nope."

"Did they kick you out for being a pussy?"

"Nope."

"Hey, I heard that the girls there are all super gross. I heard that they all have glasses, and they're all fat, and they're so desperate that—"

Preston sighed and just walked away. _Buzz off, Ben. No one likes you_.

…_They might be desperate, but not as desperate as you_._ THAT'S what I should've said! Why can't I ever think of this stuff till after? _Preston lifted his tray up as he squeezed between a couple of chairs, then exchanged a nod with Mr. Lacovara as they passed each other.

"Mr. Miller."

"Mills," Preston corrected, but the teacher was already out of earshot. He paused; it looked like their normal lunch table had been stolen by a bunch of older kids, all wearing the school jumper with the big green 'L' on the back. He stood up on his tiptoes, peering around for the others, and eventually spotted them in the far corner by the windows (Alice was there too, he noticed, forgoing her usual seat with the cheerleader girls). Apparently, they were too busy arguing to notice as he walked up behind them.

"—there's another connection!" Martin was saying. "It's not only Project Argus, I read about it in the files. There's something else!"

"How can there be something else?" Charles replied. "You're saying there's another one?"

"Yes! Maybe. It _could_ be a different part of the same experiment or it could be another alien altogether!"

Preston nearly dropped his tray for a second time. "You're talking about that _here_?" he hissed.

"Why not?" Alice asked. "It's not like anyone's paying attention."

"Oh, really? Rumours are already spreading about us!" Preston grabbed a chair and dumped his lunch, slipping between Cary and Joe. "This morning I was stopped by some seventh graders who thought it was _our_ fault that train blew up. Our fault!"

Joe frowned. "You mean the one Dr. Woodward crashed into?"

"Yes! That one! They even knew Dr. Woodward was involved!"

"How?"

"No idea, but – Lillian's a small town! People talk! They know we got in trouble with the military, at least, and I guess they made the connection to the train…" He sighed. "I'm just saying, guys, _maybe_ try and keep things quiet. At least don't bring classified files to school." He gestured at the manila folder marked 'TOP SECRET' that was scattered across the table.

Obediently, Martin began gathering up papers. "Sorry."

"It doesn't matter. What were you guys talking about, anyway?"

"Breaking into a military base," Cary replied.

"Haha, very funny."

Cary didn't smile.

"Oh. You're serious." Somehow, Preston wasn't even surprised. _And that's how insane my life is now._

* * *

><p>Joe let the others do the explaining. Or Martin, mainly – he was the one who'd been doing the most reading, going through the hundreds of papers they'd recovered from Woodward's dungeon, trying to find clues as to what the alien had been and where it had actually come from. <em>Trying to find out anything that we don't already know.<em> It was certainly a far cry from the Martin of two months ago, who'd kept insisting they forget about the train crash altogether.

"It says so here," Martin said, skimming through a printout. "'Argus may be additionally related to the Manila Event of 1948 (see: Project Chiron), or similarly to the Tunguska Events of 1908 and 1963 (see: Project Nestor). However, these events and any related materials are under the control of foreign powers. Research into any connecting events is underway by CIA personnel at the Springfield and Port Clinton facilities, with conclusions available upon request to any Argus members of appropriate clearance…'"

"And that means… what, exactly?" Alice asked.

"It means that the Argus project – this whole thing we've been mixed up in, the alien, the air force, everything – is only _one_ part of it. There's other projects, and maybe there are _other aliens_. Projects Chiron and Nestor. It says it right here."

"Wait a second, wait a second," Preston interrupted. "You said 'Springfield'. That's where we go for our interrogations, isn't it?"

"Yeah! Exactly."

"So essentially, what you're saying, is… you want us to break into a heavily-guarded military research facility to find out more about a random, classified project which might or might not be related to aliens, and you're basing all this on a piece of paper that we stole from a dead person's trailer?"

"Yeah," Martin said. "I know it sounds weird."

"It's not weird. It's _insane_."

"We could do it next time we go for questioning, right?" Charles suggested. "Have a look around, I mean."

"That might be difficult, considering how close they watch us," Joe said.

Preston shook his head. "Guys, no. Why are we still _talking_ about this—"

"Talking about what?"

Joe whirled around. Rachel was standing behind them, sheepishly holding a lunch tray. "Sorry to interrupt, but… can I sit here? I don't really know anyone else."

"Oh! Sure, join us," Joe said. "Everyone, this is Rachel. She's a transfer student. Rachel, this is everyone. That's Charles, that's Cary – you probably saw them in biology – that's Martin, that's Preston, and that's Alice."

She stared at them all intensely, remembering names as Joe went around the circle. They shuffled sideways to make room for another chair. Martin quickly put the papers under his seat while the others took grabbed a few mouthfuls of food.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Rachel murmured, "but I heard you talking about the army?"

Preston gave them all an _I-told-you-so_ look.

"Oh, that's nothing," Charles said, brushing it off. "We've been seeing a lot of military trucks around town recently, and we weren't sure what they're doing here."

"Really? My dad's in the army, maybe I can ask him."

"Haha. Hahaha. Your dad's in the army?"

"Yes. Technically, he's a liaison between the army and the CIA."

"Wow, hahaha. That's mint." Charles laughed nervously again, then swallowed.

There was a strange, confused silence while Rachel tried to figure out why everyone looked so antsy all of a sudden. Martin took a big bite out of his sandwich. Alice's fake smile was a marvel to behold.

"So – where did you come from?" Cary asked eventually.

"Florida. My dad was transferred here to work at one of the bases."

"Really? My dad supplies chemicals to the bases round here, so we're practically related. Do you feel cold all the time? With the weather, I mean."

She shrugged. "I guess so. Are people nice here?"

"Sometimes," Preston said.

"You gotta be careful who you hang out with," Charles added. "There are a lot of _characters_ at this school. I saw you in our biology class – how'd you like it?"

"It was okay. Teacher seemed kind of strange, though."

There was another short pause as they contemplated Mr. Lacovara's strangeness. Joe kept wondering how much Rachel had overheard of their conversation earlier; it would've sounded completely deranged to anyone who was listening.

"That teacher _is_ weird," Cary said darkly. "Once, he ran over an old lady and then he blamed it on his car. He said the accelerator got stuck."

"Cary! Not a great lunch topic!" Charles hissed.

"No, it's fine." Rachel leaned forwards, speaking softer. "We had this teacher at our school, and this guy broke into his house and the teacher shot him."

Alice winced. "With a _gun_?"

"Yeah. But he didn't go to jail, cause – I guess if someone breaks into your house, you're allowed to shoot them."

Martin chuckled nervously. "Our workshop teacher got his hair caught in the lathe, and then he got his whole scalp torn off. And now he has to wear a wig."

They all giggled.

"Our shop teacher got his pinky cut off by the radial arm saw," Rachel said, "and when they tried to sew it back on it didn't fit anymore, so now he has a rubber one instead and it falls off twice a day."

They giggled again, as people often do when talking about horrendous injuries. 'Check out this weird thing that happened at my school' was something that everyone could bond over. Rachel appeared to relax a little, grabbed her drink and took a sip.

"Thanks for letting me sit here," she said to Joe. "You guys seem nice."

Charles grinned. "You're _really_ nice."

"Would you mind showing me the ropes around here?"

"Sure, we could… show you the ropes…"

"But if I start annoying you, please, be sure to let me know."

"Oh, don't worry. We'd never let you annoy us." Charles and Cary nodded enthusiastically, although Preston and Martin seemed a bit less sure. And Alice… Joe couldn't tell what Alice was thinking, but she appeared happy enough. It wasn't long before Cary and Charles were bickering again, arguing about who had the best chips.

_I just hope that nothing goes _wrong, Joe thought. _Being around us is more dangerous than you'd think. But finding a new friend is better than making a new enemy, so I guess that's something to be grateful for._

As for Rachel, she merely sat back and watched, a hint of a smile on her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>2:05PM<strong>

* * *

><p>Twenty fourteen-year-olds lined up on one side of the gymnasium, split into two camps. On the left: jocks (or people who were happy to be there). On the right: nerds (or people who just <em>weren't that good<em> at football). The last two periods on Monday were gym class, and this was the natural order of things. Everyone wore the same thin grey t-shirt and tiny green running shorts. Above their heads, the strangely depressing slogan '_Failing to Prepare = Preparing to Fail'_ was painted in huge yellow letters.

Their gym teacher stood before them with hands on hips, a whistle hanging round his neck. Mr. Davies was a casually confident, square-jawed hunk of a man, and he clapped sharply to get their attention. "Alright fellas," he announced. "I just wanna let you know that in honour of it being the first day back, I'm gonna give you guys the day off."

Martin raised his hand. "Can we go home?"

"Haverford, don't be an idiot, alright?" He grinned. "I mean, we're gonna do something fun! I'm gonna let you guys… play _dodgeball_."

"YEEEEAAHHH!" The left side of the room started clapping, cheering. The right side (including Joe, Cary and Martin) merely sighed or stared at the floor. Then Joe glanced to the side, and noticed someone looking at him.

It was Todd, from earlier. The good-looking guy who'd stopped by his locker that morning. _What was that quote again?_

_Oh yeah: 'I really fucking hate you.'_

Joe swallowed, and took a deep breath as Todd smiled a slow, predatory smile.

* * *

><p>Balls. Balls, everywhere. They soared back and forth across the gym, bouncing off the walls and skidding off the floor, each time making a distinctive '<em>thunk!' <em>Kids ran for cover, shielding their faces desperately like a scene out of World War 2.

"Oh my _god_!"

"Alright, c'mon guys, let's go!" Mr. Davies yelled.

"AAH! Ow!" Someone shouted in pain as scarlet rubber slammed into their chest. Joe and Cary stayed pinned against the back wall. On the other side, the jock team stood at the front of their half, launching balls with extreme prejudice and catching any shots that came near. Todd collected two and threw them both in quick succession; one hit the wood right above Martin's head and he ducked, grimacing. "Would somebody _please_ tell what's supposed to be fun about this?!"

Cary flinched at every ball like he was shellshocked. "If we just let ourselves get hit, then we can get out – aaugh!" He jumped sideways to dodge. _Thunk!_

"Woah!" A second ball barely missed Joe's face.

"Let's just pretend to get hit, nobody would know," Martin said desperately.

"Maybe, but I don't think we can—"

"LADIES!" The teacher pointed at them. "Put down the mascara, get in there and play! C'mon!"

Joe remained with his back to the wall. He could play tennis, and baseball, and even wasn't bad at basketball, but dodgeball was something that was only fun for a certain type of person. That person wasn't him. It _definitely_ wasn't Cary, who was the smallest kid in class, and Martin's glasses also made it difficult to do much. A pair of kids sprinted past him, chasing some loose ammunition. Todd whipped another ball at their team and it slammed into a guy's hip, knocking him onto his butt. "Aaah!"

"_Very_ nice!" Mr Davies exclaimed.

For Martin, that was the last straw. "I can't take it anymore man, I gotta get out of here!" He turned and started sprinting for the sidelines.

The enormous figure of Ben Huxley did not approve. "Hey, look! Little man's makin' a run for it!"

"Hey, only my mom's allowed to call me that!" Martin yelled back. He crouched down and squeezed past some more of his teammates, eyes on the clear space in the corner. Ben raised his arm and grunted and threw—

—and a second later the ball _thunked_ off the side of Martin's skull, who collapsed and fell onto his hands and knees, dazed. He groaned, rubbing his head. "Ow."

"Woah…" Cary and Joe looked on, eyes wide.

"Okay, now it's time to slam Lamb!" Todd suddenly pointed right at him, ball held threateningly. Joe sucked down some air and immediately began looking for an exit. He grabbed Cary's shirt.

"Joe! Get away from me!" Cary hissed.

"We need to stick together!"

"Are you crazy? That Todd guy's got his eyes on you, man!"

Someone whooped across the gym, either in pain or elation. It was hard to tell. The balls kept flying. Joe ducked as Cary pulled away from him. "Help me, Cary!"

"How am I supposed to do that? Why is Todd so interested in you anyway?"

"I don't know!"

"How can you not _know_?"

"HEY KID!" Ben Huxley shouted. Instantly, a red ball cannoned into Cary's groin.

Cary froze. Slowly, he bent over, his face a mask of pain. His teammates gasped in sympathy with hands over their mouths.

"_Oooh_."

"Oh my god."

Cary took a breath and straightened, right as _– whump! –_ a second ball crushed the same spot. He fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. "Uggghhh…"

"YEAH!" Ben shouted again. "YEAH!—"

The whistle shrieked, loud and piercing. "Hey! Huxley, hey! Hey! That's illegal, you're out of it." Mr. Davies pointed at the benches.

"What?" Ben spread his hands.

"Just sit down. Alright, Lee, come on, walk it off."

Cary got to his feet and stumbled awkwardly to the safe zone, still bent double. As Ben walked past, the teacher chuckled and slapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "Siddown, knucklehead."

_Thunk! _Joe ducked behind a long-haired kid, staying out of sight. There were only four others left on his team and they were standing in a group near the middle of the rear wall.

"There's nowhere to hide, Lamb!" Todd yelled.

"Kid, get away from us! That psycho's after you!"

Todd chucked a ball at them, low and hard, and the long-haired kid leaned away. "Pick 'em up and throw!" Mr. Davies yelled. Long-hair grabbed another ball, tossed it weakly at the other side. "_That's_ the way."

But the throw was high, and Todd caught it easily. "Nice throw, pussy!"

Long-hair seemed pretty happy though. "He caught my ball – I'm out! Haha, yeah!" He laughed and skipped to the side.

_Thunk, thunk! Thunk!_ _Thunk! _Another four balls speared towards them in quick succession… with four direct hits. In the space of five seconds Joe's remaining teammates were eliminated, and they dropped to the ground before him with a chorus of moans and bruises. He pressed himself up against the wall, eyes darting back and forth. _Only me left. That's not good odds._

"Go Joe, go!" Martin urged.

He took the advice and ran for it. Joe sprinted sideways as half-a-dozen balls arced towards him, most of them landing a few feet behind his back. He skidded to a stop as – _BAM! – _a shot hit the wood near his head, then ran back the other way. The whole time, Todd just watched him suffer – standing, waiting, a menacing smirk on his face. Joe paused. Someone else threw a ball at him and he managed to duck it, then only had to stand still as another missed him completely.

And then, entire breathless seconds later… all of the balls were on his side. All except one. Todd aimed his last shot and flung it as hard as he could. Joe flinched. The ball sped right at him, spinning viciously, and—

—stopped. _Whump!_

He looked down. Somehow, the ball had wedged itself between his arms and chest. He took it, surprised, and held it in his hands. _I caught it!_

For a moment, stunned silence. Then: "_Woooooh! Yeah!_" Joe's team started cheering, clapping wildly from the sidelines. Across the gym, Ben Huxley just laughed. "Ha!"

Todd swore and shot Joe a venomous glare. "Oh my _god_!"

"Alright Applebee, take a seat." Mr. Davies gestured at the benches. "C'mon, Lamb, throw it back!"

Joe skipped a few steps forwards and chucked the ball in the general direction of the other team. There were still nearly ten of them left. _Catch it, catch it, come on—_

One of the guys raised his hands and backed out of the way, letting the ball bounce in front of him. The rest of the team now had ammo again and slowly converged to his position, balls at the ready. _Uh-oh. I wonder if this is how prisoners feel before they face the firing squad. _Joe crouched down, preparing himself for the onslaught.

When it came, it came hard and fast. A torrent of rubber whipped through the air until – _thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk! – _one shot clipped Joe on the shoulder and he curled up, protecting his head, then a second one hit his side and he gasped and just waited for the ordeal to end. "Aaah!"

Martin sighed, looking skyward. "Dodgeball's kind of a stupid game, isn't it."

Cary could only nod in agreement. _Could be worse, though. A__t least we're not playing football._

* * *

><p><strong>2:40PM<strong>

* * *

><p>On the other side of Lillian High School, Charles was having a much nicer time. His English Literature class was studying <em>Heart of Darkness<em> this semester, and they were spending their first period reading the first couple of chapters. The entire room was quiet as mouse; the warm, still air only disturbed by the occasional turn of a page.

The new girl was in this class, too. Rachel sat behind him, to the right, nose deep in the book. She saw him looking, met his gaze for the briefest of moments, then resumed reading.

_She doesn't give much away, does she,_ Charles thought to himself. _Seems nice, though. It'll be cool to show her around – I bet Florida's pretty different to Lillian. I bet _Japan's _pretty different to Lillian._

_ But she can't be friends with us, can she… not really. Everything that happened changed us, changed who we are, and she never experienced any of it. We can't tell her any of it. We can't SAY anything. There'll always be this wall between us that's never going to be broken down. We're different, now. You can't just tiptoe around the subject forever._

_And we especially can't talk to her if her dad's some kind of military hotshot. How's _that_ for a freaky coincidence._

Charles flipped a page. He hadn't read any of the previous one, but otherwise the teacher would notice he was daydreaming. _It sure would be nice to have another friend, though. A girl— not a girlfriend, but a girl who's a friend. And I was already planning to ask Amy about being an actor_…

_We do need another girl. We do. And my stupid sisters would never volunteer, not in a million years._

His mind made up, Charles leaned over toward Rachel's chair. "Hey," he whispered.

Rachel glanced up again, a quizzical look in her eyes.

"I was just wondering… how do you feel about movies?"

* * *

><p><strong>3:15PM<strong>

* * *

><p>Alice grabbed her books from her locker and stuffed them into her bag. Around her, dozens of others did the same, eager to get home. The gloomy second-floor hallway of the maths building was packed with students and schoolbags, teachers doing their best to push through the mob.<p>

"No running, please! Keep it down!"

She flipped through her math book, trying to remember which pages she was supposed to read. The first day hadn't been too bad, really, although having homework _already_ was definitely a bummer. The teachers had been decent however, and most of her classmates were fine (even if her friends from last year kept asking why she'd been hanging out with boys the entire break). She grinned a little – _they're probably just jealous _– and zipped up her bag, closing her locker with a soft _click_. A few eighth-graders barged past, sprinting down the hall towards the stairs.

_"Hey, give that back!"_

_ "Come and get it, moron!"_

Alice turned, about to start the journey home when an arm suddenly barred her path. "Hey."

She looked up – she had to, because he was taller than her. "Todd…" She grabbed his arm and tried to push it away, but it didn't budge. "Todd, I have to get home."

He smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. But when he spoke, he didn't sound particularly happy. "Why the rush?"

"I have homework," she said tersely.

"Oh, come on. You've got hours and hours to do it. Why can't we talk?"

"We can talk later."

"But how are we supposed to talk when you never answer my calls?" Todd was still smiling, but his muscles were tensed. Alice noticed and tried to walk around him. He blocked her. "You never answer my calls, Alice."

"I never_ get_ your calls," she lied.

"You do get them. Your dad answers them, sometimes, but he always says you're out."

"I am out."

"Is that right… spending a lot of time with your new boyfriends?"

The people around them were beginning to notice the confrontation (Todd was a noticeable guy, after all). Some of the younger kids moved away, not wanting any part of it; most of the older ones were eager for some entertainment. Girls started to gossip in hushed voices. Boys looked on with dark curiosity, the same way you'd watch as a fire started to burn.

"They're my _friends_, Todd. Not everything has to be a relationship," Alice retorted.

He shook his head. "I know what they are. Why the hell are you spending so much time with them? Charles, Joe, that whole group, they're losers—"

"They're not losers!"

"—and the whole break, three months, I didn't see you once! Not once! I thought we were supposed to be together!" His voice echoed from the dull green walls, before fading into deathly silence.

"We weren't really together," Alice said quietly. "We dated for a semester, and… that's it. Now it's over."

"That's _it_?"

"Yeah. That's it."

"Not even 'sorry'?"

"Fine, I'm sorry. I don't want to see you anymore. Is that what you wanna hear?"

Todd leaned closer, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "How can you even _say_ that – am I not good enough for you, or something? Wasn't I good enough for Alice Dainard? Do you think I'm just disposable?"

"Todd, stop—"

"And what I really don't understand is what you see in Joe-fucking-Lamb! He's just a kid who's mom died! That's it! He's _nothing!_"

Despite herself, Alice could feel a lump forming in her stomach, in her chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Todd, you're embarrassing yourself. You're embarrassing _me_. Please don't."

"Has he even kissed you yet?"

"…What?"

"Has he even kissed you?"

"No! I told you, we're—"

I bet he has," Todd said viciously. "I bet he's done all sorts of things to you, because you're such a god-damn _slut_."

He only whispered that last, awful word, but everyone heard it just the same. A couple of the girls gasped. The boys standing in the hallway jeered loudly. "_Ooooooh!_" Alice tore her eyes away from his and looked around at the spectators, suddenly aware of their gaze and their judgement. The scene wouldn't be easily forgotten.

She swallowed, and said harshly: "Todd, you're fifteen. Get over it."

And suddenly, somehow, he seemed ashamed – ashamed, and pathetic, and small, with his stupid teeth and stupid nose and stupid blonde hair. He grabbed her arm again but she shook him off. "I liked you, Alice!" he said desperately. "I still like you. Maybe I even _loved_—"

Before he could finish the sentence, she ran. She hated herself for it, but she ran. That was it. Images of the time Todd had sent her flowers flashed through her mind, the time they'd gone to the diner together and walked home in the rain, the times they'd sat together at school and drawn secrets on each other's hands, and it all blurred together with the doors and the hallways and the staring faces as she rushed down the stairs. Were they good memories? Bad? So much had happened in the months between that she'd forgotten. Either way, it didn't matter anymore.

_Am I crying?_ No, she wasn't crying. She just felt… dizzy, humiliated, maybe even guilty, and for once she didn't know what to do. Todd was probably chasing her but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting away. She wiped her eyes and slipped through the crowd, searching for—

_Joe_. A sudden need to see his face welled up inside of her, so fast it threatened to burst. She looked around but couldn't spot him, lost in a sea of people with blurry, misty faces. Joe was – Joe was nice, and he'd understand (or at least he'd try), and for all of Todd's good qualities he definitely wasn't that. She waded onwards. Suddenly she saw a distinctive mop of brown hair in the distance.

"Joe! Wait!"

Maybe it wasn't him, or maybe he didn't hear her. The corridor seemed endless. _So many people_. Again, that image of Todd with roses in his hand bubbled to the surface, but she gritted her teeth and pushed it down. Replaced it with the image of him standing in the hallway, gripping her arm like a vice. Alice reached the main doors and stumbled through them, bursting out into the sunlight—

Except there was no sunlight, because it was raining.

Big, fat droplets streaked into the yard from pregnant stormclouds above. The storm had rushed in quick over the hills, heavy and thick, squatting over the town like a dark grey omen. Kids took cover or rushed across the parking lot, squealing and covering their heads. Alice looked up at the clouds, squinting; a couple of droplets splattered on her forehead and stuck her hair damp against her skin. There wasn't any wind, no thunder or lightning – just warm, grey rain.

"Joe!" she shouted again. She couldn't see him in the yard, not through the haze. _Maybe he's already walking home with Charles. Maybe he hasn't left yet. _She jogged down the steps, shielding her eyes, half-expecting to feel a hand on her shoulder, to hear Todd coming up behind her. "Joe!"

"…Alice?" _That voice. _And a small figure, waving at her from near the buses.

She ran towards him unthinking, her heart filled with dumb relief. He seemed confused but waited patiently for her, half-smiling as she ran through the rain.

"Um – I don't know if you noticed, but it's kind of wet out here. Alice?"

She didn't reply. When she reached him, she simply grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the grass. "Come on."

"What are you doing?"

_Please, Joe. I need you. _The drops kept falling. Alice pulled him onwards, acting on instinct, drawing strength from his grip. They passed other students, thoughts of maths homework long gone. Joe was still confused but followed willingly enough. His hand was smooth and warm in her own, skin slippery from the storm. Her heart thumped in her chest.

Finally, they reached the chain-link barrier that ran around the edge of the school. Alice took Joe's shoulders, stumbled forwards clumsily, pressed him up against the fence – the boy she'd come to know, to confide in, to fall in love with, the boy with beautiful, messy brown hair and a face damp from the rain.

And she kissed him.

Joe's eyes widened in surprise. For one second, two seconds, three, he was frozen; their lips touching, Alice's body hot against his.

Then his hand moved, and found her cheek… and he kissed her back, long and hard. (Technically, he didn't know how to, but it seemed to work well enough.) The fence dug into his shoulders, and the rain still fell, but Alice held him there, gently, heart racing, until all other sensations faded into nothingness. She closed her eyes. She didn't know it was impulse, or adrenaline, or simple, pure truth – all she knew was that it felt right. Their lips touched.

Slowly, eventually, she pulled away slightly, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes looked into his; kind and brown and full of warmth.

"People are watching us," Joe murmured softly.

"I don't care," she whispered back.

She leaned forwards and kissed him again, losing herself in their embrace. She felt his fingers run through her hair, and she shivered, and her hand slipped around his neck, beneath his ear and when she noticed he had goosebumps she couldn't help but smile. Her tongue pressed against his lips like his body pressed against her chest. They moved as one, the clumsiness gradually fading, and together they stayed for an endless, breathless moment – a mixture of pleasure, and surprise, and _life_.

Finally, Alice stepped back. She let go of him, a little uncertainly, brushing her hair behind her shoulders. Joe remained leaning on the fence as if he wasn't sure how to react, a ridiculous smile on his face.

"That was sudden," he said shyly.

"I'm sorry. I – I think I needed it."

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna complain." He grinned.

Together, they sat down on the grass, their backs to the fence as the rain kept falling. Their schoolbags lay beside them, damp and forgotten. A group of younger kids gave them a curious glance as they walked by.

"Was that your first kiss?" Alice asked.

"Um… yep. First one," Joe replied, blushing. "How 'bout you?"

"No. But it might be the first one I've actually enjoyed."

"That good, huh?"

"Yep. That good."

_It was pretty good,_ Joe thought. The clouds rumbled with the first hint of thunder, a summer storm on the way. Most of the cars had left the parking lot by now, and any kids left at school had crowded underneath the shelters. Alice giggled suddenly. "Thanks, though."

"For what?"

"For, I don't know – for existing? It's nice, having you around."

"Oh really?" Joe raised his eyebrows. "I guess it's nice having you around, too. Especially if we—" He paused.

"Especially if what?"

"…Don't worry about it."

Alice smiled with the realisation. "You _really_ enjoyed that kiss, didn't you."

"Ummmm, sure. Obviously. I mean, who wouldn't?"

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it. Hey, tell you what – if you walk me home, you might get another one. Whaddaya say?"

Joe peered at his watch, then up at the sky. "Well, I'm pretty sure we can't get any wetter, so – I accept your offer." He pushed himself to his feet, then offered a hand to Alice. "Just in case we can get wetter, though, I think we'd better hurry."

"Sure! Sounds good." She pulled herself up and threw her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go."

Together, hand in hand, they walked across the grass, then through the gate and up the hill till they were swallowed by the mist. Before them, a whole new year awaited, revealed by a single, sudden kiss.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Thanks to thewalkerinme's and PuppeteerOllie's enthusiasm you're getting another chapter early(ish)! Enjoy. In the interests of full disclosure, a couple of scenes were inspired bystolen from Freaks and Geeks, which is a totally brilliant TV show you should immediately marathon if you haven't seen it. (And man, I feel like the ending of this chapter is so stupidly cheesy it kind of wraps around to being good again.) If you _have_ enjoyed the story so far, I'd also be super grateful (or super gr8ful, haha :-/) if you left a review... because reviews are awesome and encouraging and I'd love to know your thoughts!_

_Unfortunately, this is the last part I can write without putting major thought into the main plot, which means there might not be further updates for a while. To prove I AM thinking about it, though, here's a HOT PREVIEW of the first ten chapter names:_

- Friends and Fireworks

- The First Day

- A Love Story

- The Forest

- Visitors

- The Echo

- About to Explode

- The Ghosts of Lillian

- I Spy

- The House in the Mist

_Mysterious! Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you have a great 2015 :-)_


	28. A Love Story

'_The recovered technology appears to operate by the principles of the Alcubierre drive, first proposed by physicist Michael Alcubierre in 1974. The drive is a propulsion system which can theoretically (and in this case, does) allow faster-than-light travel by generating an energy-density field lower than that of a vacuum. By surrounding a vehicle in a bubble of what is, essentially, 'negative mass', a spacecraft can traverse distances by contracting space in front of it and expanding space behind it, faster than the speed of light. Further investigation of the Lillian site is required to determine exactly how this bubble is generated, but the most obvious evidence for this negative mass concept is how metallic objects seem to 'fly' or 'levitate' when exposed to the alien technology…'_

_Paragraph from a research paper, " Reverse-Engineering of FTL Concepts" by Phillips et al, published January 13__th__, 1983_

* * *

><p><span>A Love Story<span>

Joe sat at the dinner table with his father, cutting through some steak. Between them was a decent spread – beans, carrots, mashed potato, the aforementioned steak and gravy – and while his dad wasn't the best cook in the world, he'd been forced to learn quick. Their forks clinked against plates in gentle rhythm amid the patter of rain outside.

His hair was still wet, actually, from walking Alice to her house. They'd both been thoroughly drenched by the time they got there but that was just another thing to grin about; they'd stood there for a while, out of the rain, Joe squeezing the water from his schoolbag, Alice keeping him company by talking about nothing in particular. Then she'd leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the feeling had kept him warm inside the whole way home. He smiled at the memory.

"What're you grinnin' about?" his dad asked.

"Um… nothing."

"Good first day, huh?"

"You could say that." Joe looked down at his plate. He remembered the fence pressing into his back, her arms around his shoulders, the smell of her hair, that strange, sweet look in Alice's eyes just before she closed them and their lips touched… "Thanks for the dinner, dad."

"Well, I know it's not a casserole, or a – a lasagne or anything, but at least I can fry a decent steak." Jack shrugged. "You're _still _smiling about something, and I know it's not the food."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are. I'm glad."

Rain drummed against the windows, continuing late into the night.

* * *

><p>The second day of school was less eventful that the first. It bore all the hallmarks of the familiar, monotonous routine that would make up most of their lives for the next three months: Maths, English, Science, Art, then two periods of Social Studies on Tuesday afternoon that were a real battle to stay awake through. Joe spent most of his time between classes carefully avoiding Todd, while Alice did the same on the other side of the school. They walked home together again in the afternoon, though this time the weather was thankfully a bit sunnier. Charles spent most of his time enthusiastically selling them on his movie idea – '<em>which, by the way, you're gonna help me make'<em> – and at lunchtime buried himself in a corner of the library, writing in his notebook. On Wednesday the unquestionable highlight was when Preston spilled orange juice all over his jeans (since the food certainly wasn't).

Rachel seemed to gravitate towards them in her quiet, unassuming way. In the morning, she had a visit to the school counsellor to say that yes, she was settling in well, and making some friends, and no, she didn't have any questions. As she left his office, she saw that Alice was the next appointment – they exchanged a 'hey' in the hallway, but she didn't ask why. She supposed it was none of her business.

* * *

><p>Joe scrunched up his eyes in an attempt to make the numbers swim into focus. Stubbornly, they didn't. '<em>Andrew has a jar containing four blue marbles and two green marbles. Without looking, he takes two marbles from the jar. What is the probability that two marbles with the same colour will be selected?' <em>Their latest homework sheet for math was on the topic of probability, and he kept getting the wrong answers for what felt like easy questions. Somehow, his math scores had been good enough to move him up to the advanced class, which he was definitely _not_ enjoying so far.

"Preston, you have to help me with this," he muttered. "I think I'm about to murder Andrew and his jar of stupid marbles."

"Violence won't solve anything. Being methodical and following the textbook _will_," Preston replied. "That question is exactly like example fifteen. It's a cinch."

"For you, maybe."

"It's not that hard, seriously. I'll help you once I'm done with the next problem."

Since Joe, Preston and Martin were now Advanced Math buddies, they'd decided to crash at Martin's place after school on Wednesday to work through the first assignment. They sat around the dining room table, pens scribbling, books open, pausing occasionally to sigh or stare at the ceiling. Martin's parents and sister were out of the house, and since his dad was the town dentist and his mum was high up in some insurance company, it was a _nice_ house – big, tall ceilings, a sort of modern, clean look with bright airy lighting and fancy vases in the corners. The kitchen was filled with appliances and containers of leftover takeaway. An expensive bottle of wine sat half-open on the bench.

Joe put his pen down and stretched his fingers. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Join the club," Martin grunted.

"Okay, okay, I'll help." Preston rolled his eyes and shuffled his chair over to Joe. "Look here. The first way you can do this question is to list every possible outcome for taking marbles out from the bag. That's slow, and boring, but it works, especially for low numbers. Have you tried that?"

"Yep," Joe said. "Didn't work."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yep."

"You must've done something wrong then. Never mind. The other, easier way you can do it is with the probability rules, which are—"

"Hey," Martin interrupted, "does anyone wanna lend me ten bucks?"

Preston snorted. "No! What for?"

"So I can buy a new Atari game tomorrow. I've nearly got enough, I just need another ten."

"Will I get to _play_ this new Atari game?" Preston asked suspiciously.

"Duh, of course. I'll pay you back."

"Why not ask your parents?" Joe said. "They're loaded, aren't they?"

"Yeah, but they never give me money for that kind of stuff." Martin paused, scribbling down another answer. "Okay, how about this. Will you guys_ give_ me ten bucks if I do something gross?"

"…How gross?" Joe asked.

"I've got an idea. It's pretty gross."

* * *

><p>The math books disappeared. In their place were several dozen bottles, jars, cans, containers, packets – every interesting liquid or powder they'd managed to find in the fridge and kitchen cupboards. The dining table was a multi-coloured forest of (hopefully) edible substances. Next to this sat a blender, a glass, and Martin.<p>

"Alright, here's the bet," he said. "For ten bucks… I drink this much of anything." He held his fingers about ten centimetres apart.

"Anything?" Joe asked.

"Anything. As long as it's something you can eat. Only stuff from the kitchen, nothing from the bathroom and nothing from the garage."

"Okay." Preston shrugged.

"And it has to be _food_. Nothing from under the sink. No cleaners, no detergent, no – no furniture polish, and no cut up bits of sponge."

"Okay."

"I'm just trying to win ten bucks here, I don't wanna die."

"Alright, alright. Now, put on... the _blindfold_." Preston handed him a bright orange winter beanie, which Martin pulled down over his glasses.

"Better not mess up my hair," he muttered.

"Now step into… the _sound-proof booth_," Preston continued. This was a pair of protective earmuffs; Martin took them, slightly unsteadily.

"I'm trusting you guys," he warned them, facing their general direction. Then, slowly, he settled the earmuffs over his head. No sight, no sound; this way, the concoction would be wonderful, delicious surprise. Preston and Joe waited for a second, surveying the possibilities spread out on the dining table, then leaned together conspiratorially.

"Okay," Preston whispered. "Put in some mustard, it's an ipecac, it'll make him barf."

Joe winced. "Don't make him _barf_, his mom cooks dinner in here!"

"If we're not trying to make him barf, then why are we doing this?"

"…I can hear everything you guys are saying," Martin said, the beanie still over his eyes.

"Then quit listening!" Joe retorted.

"I can't help it!"

"Then hum so you can't hear us," Preston suggested.

Quietly, tunelessly, Martin began humming to himself. _'Hm-hm-hm-hm-hmmmm, hm-hm. Hm. Hm…" _Joe and Preston stood up and started circling round the table, picking out foods at random.

"Cayenne pepper," Preston said, holding up a dark jar.

"Ooh, good one! Pass me the pickle juice."

They began tipping stuff into the blender: _way_ too much pepper, the pickle juice (plus some actual pickles for good measure), and, after giving it a second thought, Joe added some of the mustard as well, which squirted over the rest with a satisfying _blaaaart._

"You know," Preston said, "my cousin once drank an entire jar of pickle juice. He had to sit on the toilet for ten hours."

"Oh, man, that's so bad."

"This is gonna be _great_. Let's add some maple syrup…"

"Salt… sardiiiines…" Joe layered the mixture with table salt, then opened a tin of sardines and dumped them on top. The slimy, plopping sound they made as they fell made Preston recoil in horror. "Aww, that's disgusting!"

"Vinegar." Joe tipped in a cup of the sour-smelling liquid. "Mmm, vinegar."

"Wait wait wait." Preston leaned over and grabbed a small red bottle. "Soy sauce."

"Soy sauce," Joe agreed. "And chilli – for texture." He added a whole can of the brown, sloppy beef chilli. In the background, Martin was still humming to himself, apparently the happiest man in the world. The blender was nearly full of the chunky green-brown potion.

"This is disgusting," Preston said again.

"Exactly."

"No, like – congratulations, this is really, truly disturbing." He poured in some ground coffee beans, then spooned a dark, wobbly substance on top. "A little bit of coffee, a little bit of jelly… grape flavoured, I think."

"Some creamy milk." Joe added a generous dash of white.

"And, to top it off, a couple of after-dinner mints!" In this case, 'a couple' meant half the packet.

Joe nodded in approval and handed him the blender lid. "Now mix it up."

Preston put the lid on with both hands and powered up the blender. The motor protested loudly as it tried to spin through the mixture, the green, yellow and grey combining to form a gloopy, dull brown. They could hear rattling inside as the mints spun round and round.

When they took the lid off, the smell was instantaneous. "Oh, wow," Joe said. He took a step back, covering his nose.

"It's _bubbling_," Preston said curiously. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to have the approximate consistency and colour of a chocolate milkshake, but with some extra, unidentified chunky bits within. The smell, though – the smell was something else. Indescribable, really. Preston smiled. He poured the mixture into Martin's waiting glass, then slapped his friend on the chest.

"Ouch!"

"Hey, showtime."

Martin stopped humming and took off the earmuffs, then rolled the beanie up over his head (it had, unfortunately, messed up his hair, which was spiked in all directions). He blinked, wiping his glasses, staring suspiciously at the half-filled cup before him.

"Let me see the money first," he said.

Grudgingly, Joe and Preston each dug a crumpled five-dollar bill out of their pockets, putting it down on the table. Martin looked at the money, then at the glass, then back at the money.

"Come on, drink up already!" Preston said, grinning.

"Don't _rush_ me," Martin retorted.

He took a few deep breaths, and picked up the cup with one hand. Then, without hesitating, he had a long, drawn-out sip, swallowing at least several mouthfuls of the thick brown liquid.

"Eeeeww!" Joe's brain couldn't decide whether to wince or laugh, so he ended up doing both in a weird facial contortion. Preston immediately stepped back to avoid any potential vomit.

Martin, for his part, didn't seem to mind. He put the glass down on the table with a barely-audible _tap_, and sat there for a moment, thoughtfully licking his lips. He seemed… puzzled, but fine. "Not bad," he said eventually. "Not bad." He gave them a neutral glance, then kept drinking.

The mere sight of it was almost too much. "Dude, you're making me sick," Joe said. "Do you know what's _in_ that?"

"Well, obviously he doesn't, otherwise he wouldn't be so calm," Preston replied.

Martin ignored them and put the glass back down with about a third of the mixture remaining. He felt around inside his mouth with his tongue, trying to figure out what some of the lumps were. "The taste is okay. It's not that strong, there's a bit of everything. It feels kind of weird going down though—" Suddenly, he stopped and steadied himself against the table.

"What is it?" Joe asked.

"Man, my stomach doesn't feel so great."

Preston shrugged. "I'm not surprised, considering how those sardines blended right in."

"You put _sardines_ in here?"

"Yeah, of course. And that's not the worst part."

"Dude! I'M ALLERGIC TO FISH!" Martin shouted.

"…What?"

"I can't eat fish! It makes me – oh my _god_ I can't believe you put fish in there!"

Joe frowned. Now that he mentioned it, he _did_ remember Martin having some kind of seafood allergy. "Dude, I'm really sorry, I didn't think it would—"

"Shut up! Shut up." Martin stood up, so fast he knocked his chair over. "Oh, man, I think I'm gonna vomit. I think I'm… yep, I'm definitely gonna vomit." His shoulders heaved. "Out of the way, out of the way, GET OUT OF THE WAY—"

* * *

><p>Joe knocked cautiously on the door of the bathroom. "Hey, Martin… are you okay in there?"<p>

"No," came the sullen reply.

"'No' as in, we should call an ambulance? Or…"

"Don't call an ambulance. Just – gimme a couple more minutes. _Bleeeargh!_" Joe heard Martin retch again as yet more of his stomach came rushing out of his mouth. It splattered wetly against the toilet bowl. "Oh, maaaan…" There was a flushing noise, then the sound of running water. The door stayed closed.

Joe decided to leave him be and tiptoed away from the bathroom. _Whoops. That could've gone better._ At least Martin would probably be okay, once he got through all the vomiting.

Back in the kitchen, Preston was cleaning up the last of the bottles and cans, putting them back in the cupboards where they'd found them. The remaining contents of the blender were washed down the sink where they belonged. It didn't take too long to wipe everything down, and before long the dining table was good as new.

"Can you see any air fresheners?" Preston asked as Joe walked in.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"It still kind of stinks in here – of fish, mainly. It seems weird to have tinned sardines around if your kid's allergic to them."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe his dad likes them or something. I feel pretty bad, though."

"Hey, Martin _was _basically asking for it. Besides, he got his ten dollars. He'll be fine." Preston picked up his math book from the bench and put it back on the table. "So, about that probability question—"

Suddenly, they heard the front door open. There was the jingle of keys in the lock, the murmur of muffled conversation. Joe and Preston hurriedly sat down at the table and tried to look appropriately busy. A couple of seconds later, two people walked into the kitchen: Martin's dad, and… not Martin's mom, but another woman. His dad was tall, dressed in an ash-coloured suit, with a full head of greying hair and glasses even thicker than Martin's. The woman was quite pretty in a casual sort of way; nice hair, and a nice face, like someone you might see modelling clothes in a department store catalogue.

"Oh! Preston, Joe, I didn't expect to see you two." Victor Haverford looked somewhat surprised to have company. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello Dr. Haverford. We were just doing some homework together," Preston explained.

"Where's Martin?"

"He's… in the bathroom."

"Is that right. He's not sick again, I hope."

"Haha." Joe laughed nervously. "I don't think so."

"Well, good, because I swear he must have the worst immune system in the world." Dr. Haverford chuckled. "But I'm sorry, where are my manners – boys, this is an old, old friend of mine. From high school, actually, kind of like you and Martin are now. And Carol, these are some friends of my son's."

The woman smiled warmly. "Oh! Very nice to meet you." She stepped forwards and shook their hands.

"We haven't seen each other in, what – in how long?"

"Must be twenty years."

"Twenty years!" Dr. Haverford said enthusiastically. "Yeah, we just ran into each other, isn't that funny? I thought it would be nice to catch up. This might not be the best time though, if you're…" He ushered Carol out into the hallway. Joe could only catch a few sentences of their muted conversation.

"_—maybe you should come back tomorrow—"_

_ "—some kind of problem?"_

_ "—not when they're around—"_

"—_okay, I'll see you then—"_

Joe heard the door open and close again and exchanged a glance with Preston. A moment later, Dr. Haverford poked his head into the kitchen. "Alright, boys, I hope that wasn't too distracting. I'll be in my study if you need me. Keep working hard – or hardly working, haha." He disappeared around the corner, footsteps fading into silence.

Preston scribbled something in the margin of his notebook and passed it over to Joe: '_That was weird, right?' _

'_Yeah_,' Joe wrote back. '_But why?'_

* * *

><p>The next day at lunch, Charles spotted Rachel winding through the crowd and waved her over to their table (it was only him and Cary today, and he <em>needed<em> somebody else to chat with to avoid going mental). She paused for a moment, looking around, before sitting down with her tray.

"Sorry, were you planning on sitting somewhere else?" he asked.

"No, not really," she replied, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Where's everybody else?"

"Martin's sick, Preston's at a tutorial, and Joe's… doing something with Alice."

"What Charles _actually_ means," Cary interrupted, "is that they're making out behind the bike shed."

Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"They are NOT," Charles protested. "Can you imagine Joe kissing Alice?"

"No, but I can definitely imagine Alice kissing Joe," Cary replied.

Charles just rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He grabbed an apple from his lunchbox and took a huge bite, chomping it violently between his teeth. He turned to Rachel. "So—" _crunch _"—have you had a good day?"

"Sure, it's been okay. I didn't get lost between classes today. That was nice. How about you?"

He said something unintelligible between mouthfuls of apple. "Ick's bee pree'ey ood doo, ba jigraffy wzz fuper bor'n."

Rachel frowned. "…I have no idea what you're saying."

Cary leaned over. "That's how I feel _all the time_," he whispered.

Charles punched him in the shoulder, then finally managed to swallow. "I said it's been pretty good too, but geography was super boring. Hey, did you think about what I told you on Monday?"

"About the movie?" Rachel asked. "Not really. It sounds interesting, though."

Cary chuckled, a little warily. "Oh, man. You dragged _her _into this?"

"Sure, why not?"

"First it was Alice, now it's another girl…"

"So?" Charles stared at him, as if daring him to say something.

"I'm only thinking… do you remember what happened last time? Things went, like, crazy –totally insane. And that stuff should probably, you know… stay a secret, which might be hard, if…"

"Okay, now I have no idea what _you're_ saying," Rachel replied.

"It doesn't matter," Charles said quickly, "don't worry about it. We had a few problems making our last movie, but nothing serious."

Cary gave him a suspicious sort of look, but kept quiet.

"_Anyway_," Charles continued. "I wanted to ask your opinion about something. You read lots of books, right?"

"I guess so. Why?"

"Then you know what makes a good story. And when you're making a movie, the story is REALLY important. What's your favourite kind of book?"

"Ah – all sorts. Anything that's good."

"Sure. But what _makes_ it good?"

Rachel paused, her drink half-way to her lips. Charles' eyes were awfully serious, but also… alive. Sparkling with energy. She had to think about the answer. "I suppose it's when a story makes you feel something. Those are the ones you remember." _Like when your dad read you Lord of the Rings, one chapter a night for weeks and weeks and months, and even though you couldn't remember half the names and were probably asleep for most of it, you can still remember exactly how you felt when the last page turned. Or those hot, endless afternoons in new, unfamiliar towns, watching the other kids on the street from the balcony, having fun without you… but not caring, because there was still a case to be solved and only three chapters to go._

"Yeah! Exactly." Charles smiled, and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket. "That's what I'm trying to do – make it emotional. It has to be a good script."

"With zombies," Cary added.

"_Without_ zombies. Zombies was last time. This time, it's gonna be a love story."

"With time travel."

"Yeah, with time travel, but it's mainly a love story. It HAS to be a love story," Charles insisted. "That's where the emotion comes from. Listen, this is how it starts."

Rachel listened intently as Charles explained his movie idea, head cocked slightly to one side. Her jet-black eyes seemed slightly distant, but that was only because she was thinking intently, cogs whirring in her mind. Charles already had a pretty decent plan; it was interesting, and clever. Lots of possibilities. His enthusiasm was catching in the way he talked, leaning forwards, always moving, smiling one second and frowning the next.

And it was _simple_, in a refreshing sort of way, just how much he cared about it. It was like there was no room to worry about anything else; no room to worry about moving to a new town, or making friends, or the strange things you sometimes saw your dad working on at night. Not having to worry was… nice. Charles seemed nice, too. And Cary was nice, even though he pretended to be annoying, and Joe and Alice, who were apparently making out, and Martin with the huge glasses and Preston with the pointy nose.

A couple of minutes later, Charles finished his pitch. Rachel sat there for a moment, taking it all in.

Then she leaned forwards and cracked her fingers. "Okay. I might have some ideas," she said.

Charles' eyes lit up. "Really?"

"You tell me if you like them or not. But, I think it'd be smarter if you linked the reason for the time travel to the reason for the person's death."

"Yeah, great! That sounds awesome. How would you connect them though?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."

"Zombies?" Cary suggested. "Time-travelling zombies?"

Together, they started adding to Charles' notebook, bouncing ideas across the table.

* * *

><p>Five minutes earlier and two hundred metres eastward, Joe and Alice were not, in fact, making out. Instead, they were sitting around the back of gymnasium, facing out across the sports oval. It was a small and secluded spot sandwiched between a couple of buildings; the spectator stands on the left, the bike shed on the right, and a few scraggly trees drooping low over the grass. The oval stretched for nearly a hundred metres before meeting a fence on the far side, and the football team was training on it now, a dozen armoured figures sprinting back and forth. Joe's fingers were intertwined with hers as they sat – side by side, legs crossed, under a cool patch of shade. With his free hand, he grabbed his sandwich and took a thoughtful bite.<p>

"So, here's a fun question," Alice said. "If you could choose one thing in the world to be really, really good at, what would it be?"

"Anything?"

"Yep, anything you want."

"…Wizardry," Joe said.

Alice giggled. "That is _not_ an answer."

"Why not? Wouldn't you want to be a really good wizard?"

"Yeah, but it's impossible to be a wizard in the first place. It doesn't count."

"Okay. Okay. Then…" He thought for a moment. "Talking to people. Like, communicating. I feel like that's super useful."

"Definitely, good answer."

"What would you pick?"

"I don't know. Maybe… concentrating? If you could concentrate really well, you could learn how to do anything you wanted. Learn a musical instrument, speak a new language…"

Joe took another bite of his sandwich, realised it was kinda gross – _egg and tuna, NEVER AGAIN – _and put it back in his lunchbox. At least he still had a muesli bar left. Across the oval, one of the gridiron boys had scored a touchdown and was running around, collecting high-fives.

"Do you want some of mine?" Alice asked. "I'm not really hungry."

"No, that's okay. I'm not that hungry either. Did you see the news last night?"

"No, why?"

"Apparently Russia is planning to invade somewhere. Iran, or… Afghanistan, maybe? One of those countries. It sounded pretty serious."

"Oh, wow. Does that mean America's going to do something?"

"I don't know. The President made a speech about it, but I missed the last part."

Alice sighed. "Imagine what would happen if there actually was a war. Scary, huh."

"Yeah, a bit." Joe looked up at the sky. They still had an emergency drill every term at school about what to do in case there was a nuclear attack; it never seemed very helpful. Hiding under a desk wouldn't do much good against a missile. "Hey, that cloud looks like a turtle."

"Which one?"

"That one." He pointed.

"It totally does," Alice said, smiling. "It's got the patterns on its shell and everything. Did I ever tell that turtles are my favourite animal?"

"No," Joe said accusingly. "Although I'm pretty sure you laughed at _me _when I said I liked seals."

"Yeah, sorry. I guess, we're both pretty weird."

They glanced up at the bright blue sky, laced with puffy white clouds. The turtle-cloud was right above them, drifting slowly westwards; all around it were streaks of white, as if a paintbrush had been dragged across the heavens. Alice twisted around. Carefully, she put one hand behind her head, leaning back till she was resting on the grass. After a moment, Joe joined her. He stretched his legs out, lying straight. A branch overhead shielded their eyes from the sun.

The sky looked even bigger from down here – huge, and blue, and endless. Clouds wandered over the hills, some of them resembling animals, or distorted, wispy faces, while others had no shape at all.

"So, Russia…" Alice murmured.

She left the thought unfinished. He felt her hand squeeze his a little, and he turned his head to look at her.

Suddenly, it struck him how beautiful she was. _What does she see in me?,_ he wondered. _I'm just a kid with a round face and 'your mother's eyes' and a stupid pimple on his cheek that won't go away. _But she was there, next to him; the light dusting of freckles on her nose, soft lips turned up in a smile, clear blue eyes that reflected the world with curious determination. Her skin glowed like a ghost's in the sunlight. He couldn't help it as his eyes travelled downwards, following her neck, her shoulders, then the gentle curve of her chest, and the way it pressed slightly against the fabric of her shirt…

"Joe?"

"Wh-what?" His heart skipped a beat.

"Did you find another cloud? You kinda zoned out there for a while."

"Nothing. It's nothing." He felt his cheeks flush a little, and willed himself to stay calm. _It's only natural to think about that stuff, right? That's what they say in health class, anyway. _"I totally missed everything you just said."

"That's okay," Alice replied. "Do you remember what Martin was saying about the army base a couple of days ago?"

He paused as his brain rewound back to Monday. "You mean the one in Springfield? Where he wants to look around for clues, and… aliens, and stuff?"

"Yeah, that. Because I thought about it, and I'm pretty sure I have a way to get us in. Officially, I mean – without the sneaking around."

"Oh. Really?"

Alice propped herself up on one elbow, facing him. "I had a meeting with the school counsellor this morning, and it turns out he's the one in charge of our class excursion next week," she began.

"...We have an excursion next week?"

"Yeah, next Thursday. You should've gotten a letter about it for your dad to sign. Anyway, he said he actually hadn't organised it yet because he couldn't think of a good place to go, so I mentioned that since a lot of students are a little scared of the military at moment – for obvious reasons – maybe it would be a good idea to go on a tour of a military base or museum or something, to show us how safe the army is and how they want to protect us and all that crap."

"Uh-_huh_."

"And because Springfield is the biggest base that's close to Lillian, and because I'm pretty sure they do public tours already… I suggested that would be a good place to go."

"And he bought it?" Joe asked.

"I'm not sure." Alice frowned. "He said it was a 'tubular' idea, and that he'd 'jam about it' with the 'other freaks'. I think that means it's under consideration by the teachers."

"Huh. Well, I—"

_BRIIINNGGG! _Suddenly the school bell rang, signalling the end of lunchtime. Together, they got up and dusted themselves off, just in time to see the turtle disappear over the horizon. _A proper visit to the base? That could be interesting. It might be difficult to actually do anything useful if we're trapped on a school excursion, but it's definitely better than nothing._

* * *

><p>At 1 AM in Lillian, very few things stirred. There were insects, of course, buzzing and chirping; a few cats, too, out on the prowl, hunting or fighting or looking for love. Washing lines swayed listlessly in the gentle night-time breeze, the same breeze that pushed leaves across the streets in lazy, irregular spirals. Very occasionally, there would be a car – perhaps even a person – on their way back home after a party, or, possibly, after engaging in some activities best suited to the time after midnight. In the caverns beneath the Lillian water tower, though, the things that moved were somewhat more mysterious.<p>

The cavern was different to how it had appeared three months ago, on that fateful night when the alien had disappeared. Most of the stolen machinery and metallic debris had been removed, dragged along as part of its ship, and anything that remained – some heavy engine parts, strips of cabling, a strange arrangement of radio antennas – was surrounded by scaffolding and cordoned off with plastic sheets, to allow the military clean-up crew to study it in isolation. The cave seemed bigger, emptier by comparison, the bare walls fully exposed (regular and deeply-grooved, as if they'd been excavated by a machine, not an animal). At the roof of the chamber, the concrete pad and supports of the new water tower loomed amongst the shadows.

It was almost pitch-black inside but for a single small spotlight, connected to a quietly-humming generator. The spotlight illuminated a cone-shaped area near the rear of the cavern, casting it in a dusty yellow glow, throwing flickering, long shadows that slowly merged into darkness.

In the cone of light, Dr. Malcolm Phillips peered closely at a circuit board. The board was quite complex, perhaps taken from one of those new Apple computers: about thirty centimetres square, dull green, studded with capacitors and metallic contacts. Strangely, it was covered in a hard, transparent layer – some kind of organic secretion? – and within the layer, thin wires spiralled this way and that, connecting dozens of different components. More of the secretion attached the circuit board to the side of an electrical transformer box, sticking it there like glue, and several wires led from the board to somewhere inside the transformer's casing.

It was a bit difficult to see them in the spotlight's weak glow. The doctor took a glowstick from his coat pocket and cracked it sharply, and soon, its soft green radiance was added to the spotlight's yellow. He held it up to the circuit board, trying to follow the wires from connection to connection. _Why was this part needed? What was it used for? Why was it left behind? So many questions._ It was truly remarkable that an extra-terrestrial being could use human technology in such a way, to facilitate an entirely new purpose. An engineer by trade, Dr. Phillips had only recently started working with the Department of Defence's Argus Project, and he wondered why he hadn't done it sooner. Sure, the whole thing was sworn to ridiculous levels of secrecy, and there were some serious threats involved, but the funding was insane and you got to play with some _very_ cool toys…

He took two wires with a pair of tweezers and slowly, carefully brought them together. As they touched, there was a slight spark and – _whoomph! _The clear substance around the circuit board immediately melted, dripping like honey, flowing together to form a round, inky sphere suspended perfectly still in the air.

_Ah, yes!_ _Brilliant! That's certainly an interesting link… It works in exactly the same way as the other object that was found, deep in that cave in the snow._

Dr. Phillips scraped off a section of the sphere with his tweezers – it was hard, yet pliable, like warm rubber – and walked back to the base of the spotlight to deposit it in a sample bag. When he got there, he noticed that the pale man was watching him.

The pale man stood perhaps twenty metres away, out of the light, on a small rise in the dirt. As always, he was dressed in a plain black suit: white shirt, dress shoes, his hands clasped behind his back. He was tall, spindly; the clothes hung off him like they might a scarecrow. His skin was so pale, so devoid of colour that it was almost pure white. (This gave him his name, since no one knew his real one.) His face was nondescript, the features maybe a little flat, but his eyes… his eyes were pure black orbs. They were the kind of eyes you didn't want staring at you from a darkened corner.

As they were now. In all his time working on the project, Malcolm had never seen the pale man blink. He was always just… standing there, a little out of the light. _Always silent. Always watching. _People assumed that he was a government official, but again, this was uncertain.

With a shiver, Dr. Phillips turned back to his task. He was the only one still working in the cavern at this hour. At times like these he always wondered if that was such a good idea. Strange grey lumps hung from the roof of the cave, almost like fruit, or… cocoons, maybe, and, well… they were _human_ sized. In the back of your mind, you had to wonder what was inside them. You had to wonder if you were working amongst the dead, with skeletons in the shadows and the pale man watching from the dark…

But that was a thought for the biologists. His job was electronics, and that was more than enough to worry about. He disconnected the wires but the inky sphere remained: it floated above the circuit board, murky and still. This fact alone was remarkable; it meant that the sphere (whatever it did) was self-powering, needing only a spark to give it some initial energy. _And, even more remarkable… _He leaned closer, and when his face was a foot away from it, the sphere started to glow. Softly, at first, a dim orange, then brighter and brighter. The doctor thought of his children, and the sphere turned green. He thought of the pale man, and the sphere turned an ominous grey.

_Amazing. It responds to thoughts, exactly like the other one. There must be some connection there, some common link between traits – if the artefacts in Antarctica were the same it can't be a coincidence. They have the same mechanism, the same telepathic response, except those parts were more advanced, and far older. Maybe they were the originals and this is an imitation?_

At some point, the pale man left, disappearing as unnoticeably as he'd arrived. The doctor continued working for an hour longer, documenting all that he could.

Unbeknownst to him, another set of eyes watched him from the shadows. Hidden behind a boulder, a figure watched and waited… and when it had observed everything it needed to, it silently backed away into the tunnels.

* * *

><p>On the other side of the world, a woman sits in a cool, air-conditioned office. It's daytime but the blinds are drawn, speckling the floor with slits of sunlight. The woman wears a jacket and skirt and her brown hair is tied back in a businesslike bun. She looks like a journalist of some kind. Before her, on a table, is a small CRT television.<p>

She puts a tape in the VCR and presses 'play'. After a moment, the screen flickers to life, and in the corner it shows the date the tape was recorded: 08/04/79. Last week.

The recording begins.

It's a home video, shot from inside a house, looking out into the garden. A dozen children are pressed up against a window. They seem agitated about something – something outside. Some are pointing, standing on tiptoes to get a better view. Others turn to the camera with frightened expressions. Most are seven or eight years old. Their high-pitched voices exclaim in a language other than English. It is dark – the lights in the house are off – and the camera operator steps closer so that they can see above the children's heads. Somewhere, a dog is barking, barely audible above the racket.

Out in the garden, two tables are set up. One is covered with food: chips, pies, a cake with blue icing. Half-finished paper plates lie around the edge. The other table is piled high with presents, brightly wrapped and tied with ribbons. Colourful balloons are tied to the fence and streamers stretch across the yard.

_A birthday party_, the woman realises.

In the rush to get inside, several chairs were knocked over, and they lie askew in the grass. The sky above is flat and grey. Surrounding the yard is a thick hedge, several metres high, with long, dark leaves and other tropical vegetation. The leaves and balloons whip back and forth in a strong, gusting wind. The camera zooms in on a gap in the hedge. The view blurs, out of focus. It's too dark to see if anything is there. The leaves flutter. Inside the house, the children continue to shout, still pointing, still trying to see.

Then one of them _does_ see something. The children start rushing to the side, towards another window. Some of them are wearing party hats. The camera follows through the dark, unlit house. Soon, they stop, piling up before a glass sliding door. There's too many of them; they're blocking the camera's view.

"_Move!_" the woman whispers, on the edge of her seat.

The camera manages to get around. Through the door is a narrow, dirt-strewn laneway. On the left is the faded red wall of the next house; on the right is the tall, dark garden hedge. Ten yards away, at the end of the alley is a cobbled road.

One of the children is right next to the camera. He turns to the lens, explaining, or describing something. He seems afraid. The other children are all looking through the glass door. The camera zooms in on the end of the alley, to where it meets the road. The back of a parked car can just be seen, by the façade of another house. The hands of the cameraman are shaking.

The view stays like this for a long, strange moment. And then—

_Something crosses the mouth of the alley._ It is blurred, large, only visible for half a second. The children start screaming. The camera swings up, then down again, then back to the alley. Nothing is there. Just the house, and the parked car, and the windy, grey sky. The children run.

And the recording stops.

The woman shivers. She grabs the remote and rewinds the tape, back to the moment when the _thing_ crosses the alley. The terror of the children is unmistakeable. She leans closer to the television, and, fighting back her apprehension, hits 'pause' just as it appears.

_ Grey, greenish skin. Long, gnarled arms. A strange ellipsoid head, and a nightmarish, gaping mouth. _At this moment, frozen on her screen, it appears to be staring straight at the camera. Straight at the children. Straight at her.

It's like nothing she's ever seen.

* * *

><p>Their last class on Friday was music. This was a part of the school's renewed focus on 'culture and the arts', which meant that, sadly, it was compulsory whether you liked it or not. Instead of a small, optional class, filled with people who could actually play (or wanted to learn), as it had been last year, it was now a circus of thirty students with mostly very little ability and no real desire to be there. The larger class size also meant it was difficult for a teacher to truly <em>teach<em> them anything, and so it appeared that the general idea of music was 'here, take this weird-looking thing and try and make a sound with it'. Controlled chaos would be a good description.

This week, they were learning guitar, on the cheapest instruments the school could buy. The rehearsal room twanged with discordant notes, a dozen different harmonies echoing in jarring rhythms. Students sat on chairs and desks and the floor, concentrating furiously as they contorted their fingers into the right positions. Muttered cursing erupted every time someone messed up eleven bars into 'Twelve-Bar Blues'. A few half-finished rock choruses sailed over the top from the players who had some experience… including a pretty decent rendition of 'Smoke on the Water' from one Todd Ingram.

Joe stared at him glumly from the other side of the room. _Of COURSE he can play the guitar. Of course_. Todd was sitting in a circle with his other basketball buddies, casually strumming along. Alice had given him some of the less ugly details of the whole saga, which explained why Todd was so pissed at him all of a sudden. (To be honest, Joe hadn't really paid attention to Todd last year – he'd just assumed that if Alice already had a boyfriend, what chance did he have? It had taken a set of extremely special circumstances to get where they were now).

Todd noticed Joe's gaze and narrowed his eyes a little, but kept playing.

"Ignore him," Alice murmured. "He's just some douche with an acoustic guitar."

"Yeah. I know." _But he's some douche that _also_ wants to kill me_. Joe sighed, looking down at the neck of his instrument. He made his fingers match the positions on the music sheet and plucked the middle three strings. Apparently, that was an E-major chord. It sounded pretty good.

Charles and Cary were also next to him. Charles hadn't even touched his guitar yet and was busily writing in his notebook instead, while Cary was holding his upside-down and attempting to play it with his feet. Against all odds, he was having some success.

"Dude, Mrs. Bongers is going to be pissed if you break that thing," Charles hissed.

"She'll be pissed if she sees you're not even playing," Cary retorted. "What're you writing about, anyway?"

"My movie script, obviously."

"_Still_? You've been working on that thing for three days straight."

"Yeah, I know, I'm almost done with the first part though. It's really cool."

"It'd better be." Cary picked up the guitar and grudgingly started trying to use it properly. "And it'd better have zombies in it. Or else."

Suddenly, Mrs. Bongers herself swept in through the door of the rehearsal room, with all the force and bearing of a tsunami. She was toweringly big woman with a voluptuous, faintly regal air – the kind of person who, if you put her in armour, would've looked completely at home leading a cavalry charge in medieval Europe. When she spoke, every word was like a hearty slap on the back and clanged with self-assurance.

"Excuse – me!" she commanded.

Immediately, the room fell silent. Everyone's ears gave a sigh of sweet relief.

"Now, listen closely, for I have an announcement," she continued. "For the first time, Lillian will be entering the Queens Cup music competition! This is a competition for school bands from around the state. Our concert band and jazz band will be entering – as well as the school choir – but there is no limit as to how many bands may enter from the same school. Therefore" – at this point, her lips curled with barely-concealed distaste – "therefore, any of you who wish to form bands of your own may do so. I believe there is a category for rock 'music'. The competition does not begin for several months, but please practice hard if you are in the school band, and I would urge you to give it some consideration if you are interested. That is all. Continue."

She swept out of the room again, leaving silence in her wake. Gradually, it was filled with the sound of twanging guitars.

"You hear that?" Cary said enthusiastically. "We can make a band. Wouldn't that be cool? We _should_ make a band. Charles, you still got your trumpet?"

"Yeah," he grunted, focused on writing.

"Do you remember how to play it?"

"Not really – _you _try practicing a trumpet in a house with seven other people. Besides, I don't have time to enter random music competitions. Are there even any prizes?"

"She didn't say."

"So no, then," Charles deduced.

Cary shrugged. "I still think it'd be cool. Are there any prizes for your stupid movie contests?"

"Yeah, sure. We get money if we win."

"We get _money_?!"

Alice leaned over and pointed at Joe's sheet music. "Hey, do you think you can play the bottom part?"

"Uh, maybe. I think I've nearly got it."

"If you play the bottom part, I can play the top part and we can see how it sounds together."

"Sounds good. Well, hopefully." Joe grinned and glanced at the music. There were only three different chords, and therefore only three different positions for his fingers, but it was useful to try and remember them ahead of time (everything looked pretty similar, so it was hard to switch on the fly). He whispered under his breath. "C-major chord four times, then F-major, then G… okay, I think I'm ready."

"Cool. I'll start." Alice looked down and found her own finger positions. "I don't really know how this works… do I count us in?"

"Count to four, then start," Charles murmured.

"Oh, thanks. Well, here goes: one, two, three, four—"

She counted a bit too slowly, but that was probably a good thing – it gave them a bit more time to figure out what the heck they were doing. Joe began strumming the chords while Alice plucked out a single-note melody over the top. The rhythm was jerky, and there were a whole bunch of wrong notes in there, but – it kinda worked. _F chord, F chord, C chord, C chord, C cho— aah that was supposed to be a G! _Joe mangled his fingers half-way through and played a few interesting B-flats before recovering.

"Jazzy. I like it," Alice said cheerfully. She was racing ahead a bit and slowed back down until they were in sync again. "One more time?"

"Sure."

They reached the end and went back to the beginning, this time slightly steadier. Their playing was already improving, the chords getting clearer, the notes more in-tune. It was fun, and Joe couldn't help but smile. _This is pretty cool. Never mind that it's probably the simplest song you could ever learn._

Then Cary started tapping along, thumping out a rhythm with one hand on the side of his guitar. It was complete nonsense – some kind of African-bongos-sounding thing – but it mixed with the song anyway. _Ta-ta-ta-tap tap, ta-tap tap tap tap…_ Alice snorted, struggling to keep a straight face while struggling to keep in time. Cary added some extra beats with his feet and Joe sped up, trying to put him off. It didn't work. _Ta-ta-ta tap tap ta-tap tap tap!_

When they reached the end, Cary collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Joe gave him a mock glare. "That was _good_ until you joined in."

"You mean it was good _when_ I joined in."

"I dunno, I think the African thing worked," Alice said, grinning. "In our band, Cary should be on drums."

"That would be AWESOME," he said enthusiastically.

At that, Charles looked up; with a theatrical flourish, he snapped his notebook shut. "Firstly, we are NOT making a band. Secondly, I think your parents would hate you even more if you started learning the drums. And third" – he held up the notebook, waving it back and forth – "I've finished the first draft of the script."

"That was fast," Alice said.

"Yeah, I guess," Charles replied, suddenly embarrassed. "I couldn't stop writing once I started."

_I know that feeling_, Joe recalled. _I stayed up all night writing Alice's scenes for _The Case_…_

"Anyway," Charles said, "I was hoping you guys could come and film something tonight."

"Tonight," Alice said flatly.

"Yeah, tonight. I know it's late notice, but it's Friday – you guys don't have anything planned, right? I _really_ want to get the first part on film. If we do that, it'll be a huge deal, and it'll make the rest of the story a lot clearer."

"Am I in this movie?" Alice asked.

"Yeah, you're the lead actor. Well, one of them."

"I haven't even seen any of my lines! How am I supposed to—"

"That's the cool part! There are no lines. You don't need to memorise anything."

"…there are no lines," Alice repeated, somewhat suspiciously.

"Only for the first scene," Charles explained. "You'll get it when I show you. Anyway, I'm really sorry I didn't ask you before about acting, but I… I kind of assumed you'd say yes."

"Well, you were right, but it's a little sudden." Alice thought for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes. "I'll ask my dad, I'm sure he'll let me go. Unless you need me to drive again; then you can forget about it."

"No no, it's fine, my dad agreed to take us in his van. Joe? Cary? You in?"

Charles gave them his best sad-puppy-dog look, and both of them were powerless to resist. (It wasn't like they had anything better to do anyway, and Joe was already looking forward to whatever Charles had cooked up.)

"I'm in," Cary said.

Joe nodded. "Yep. I'll have to ask, but it should be OK."

"Great. You guys are awesome." Inwardly, Charles breathed a sigh of relief. The notebook was a comforting weight in his pocket. "Oh, and – I also asked that new girl to come along," he said. "Rachel."

There was a moment of quiet amidst the surrounding cacophony of guitars. Alice frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"That's what I said," Cary grumbled. "But does he ever listen?_ Noooo…_"

"It'll be fine," Charles insisted. "We just won't tell her anything weird."

"Weird?" Joe asked.

"Yeah. I mean, we won't talk about aliens and stuff. That's it."

"Well, okay. If you say so," Alice said doubtfully. She gave Joe a questioning look, but he merely shrugged in reply.

_Once Charles has made up his mind about something, it's nearly impossible to get him to change it. And who knows, it might be useful to have another person around – as Charles said, we'll just have to be careful what we talk about. It'll be fun! _Already, he could feel the anticipation starting to build in his chest. Besides, there was no way it could be worse than the previous 'first scene' that they'd filmed, when half the countryside had decided to explode. Could it?

* * *

><p>Martin checked around the house to make sure no one was home. He checked his parents' bedroom, the study, the lounge, his sister's room, even the garden out back… but he was the only one there. His parents were still out, both working late today, while his sister was staying at a friend's place, doing sister-y slumber party things.<p>

He picked up the phone and dialled the number for Joe's house. It was four or five rings before someone answered.

"_Hello?_" Jack Lamb's voice crackled.

"Hello Mr. Lamb. It's Martin."

"_Oh, hi Martin, I'll hand you over to Joe."_

"No, no, that's okay," Martin said nervously. "I actually wanted to speak to you."

_"You wanna speak to me? About what?"_

"It's… it's hard to explain. Can I ask you something?"

"_Sure, Martin. Ask away._"

He thought for a moment, glancing round the empty house. "It might be better if you come over here. Then I can show you in person. It's… sort of police business, I guess."

"_Uh – okay. I'm off duty, but I can drop by. I'll see you in fifteen minutes?"_

"Thanks, Mr. Lamb."

"_No worries, Martin. See you soon."_

* * *

><p>Jack knocked on the front door of the Haverford house and stepped back to wait. No cars were parked in the drive; Victor and Cynthia were away, obviously. Probably working. He couldn't help but be a bit curious as to what Martin's call had been about. Usually, when a kid called the police department it was bad news, but he hadn't sounded distressed over the phone.<p>

Half a minute later, Martin answered the door. "Hello Mr. Lamb. Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Jack followed him inside the house. As always, he was struck by its size, and how clean everything looked – instead of the usual mish-mash of styles, furniture and random trinkets, everything seemed to fit together. The Haverfords had money, that was for sure. Martin led him through to the kitchen and offered him a seat at the dining table.

_Better make some conversation, make the kid feel more comfortable. Though I've still got no idea why I'm here. _He noticed a stack of odd-looking folders on the table. "Busy with homework?" he asked kindly.

"Um, not really…" Martin quickly grabbed the folders and put them in a drawer.

"You and Joe are going out tonight to do some movie stuff, right?"

"Yeah, after dinner."

"Well, I'll tell you what I told him: have fun, but don't do anything stupid." Jack smiled. "Now, what is it you wanted to show me?"

* * *

><p>Preston ran from corner to corner of his room, chucking anything useful onto his bed. <em>Film, cables, snacks, costumes… <em>He opened his closet and scanned the hangers, trying to remember which ones they'd used last time; _that thick trenchcoat, definitely, and a few of the hats as well_—

"Preston?" his mother called out, voice echoing through the doorway.

"Mom, I'm getting ready!" he yelled back. He grabbed an armful of clothes at random and dumped them next to everything else. It'd have to do. Now, he needed something to put everything in. _Where did I drop my schoolbag?…_

"Preston, how are you getting to Charles' place?" his mom asked.

"I'm gonna walk!"

"And then his parents are driving you to… wherever you're going?"

"Yes!"

The schoolbag was crammed under his desk. He unzipped it, emptied everything out onto the floor and began stuffing the movie gear into it. _I swear, Charles thinks the world revolves around HIM sometimes. I had plans tonight. Plans! It would've been _really_ great to have had more notice than, 'hey, we're doing movie stuff tonight, can you be ready in like, ten minutes?' ARGH. _Of course, his plans had basically been 'lie in bed and read a book', but at least that was a known quantity. Charles hadn't even told him where they were going, for god's sake.

He did a quick check around his room just in case he'd forgotten anything. It didn't look like it; he had the extension cables, the costumes, a couple of muesli bars for later. Preston slung the backpack over his shoulder, switched off the light and shut the bedroom door behind him.

"Okay mom, I'm going!"

"Wait! Wait—" She caught him just as he was about to leave. "Don't be back too late, alright?"

"I won't."

His mom sighed. She had the same black curly hair as he did – longer, of course – and her eyes were shielded by a thin pair of glasses. "I'll let you go this time, but I don't want you spending too much time on these movie projects during semester. You're in high school, now. Grades are important."

"I _know_. I've got plenty of time to study."

"You do now, but this can't happen every weekend." She gestured out the door. "Go on."

"Thanks, mom. I'll be back soon, I promise."

He disappeared down the front path, jogging into the twilight. His mother watched him go, then slowly shut the door.

Preston's father waited in the hallway.

"He's going out to see his friends," his mom said, by way of explanation. "I think Charles called him."

"I see."

Preston's parents, like most people who'd lived together for nearly twenty years, could often tell what each other were thinking. It wasn't telepathy, not by a long shot, but from a person's face and body language and the look in their eyes – sometimes, it wasn't hard to know.

And in this case, they were both thinking the same thing. "Those kids are up to something," his dad said firmly.

She nodded. "Definitely. Up to… what, though?"

"Something happened to them when that fire hit the town. They haven't been the same since."

"Mmm. Maybe it's still happening; Preston certainly clams up every time I ask about it, and he's very eager to share his thoughts on just about everything else."

They paused in contemplation.

"Let's keep an eye out," his father murmured. "I'm sure they'll be fine tonight, but one of these days…" He left the thought unfinished. "Maybe ask that army officer about it, next time he comes around. Though I doubt he'll tell us anything either."

"I'll try. He's our kid, after all – he's not supposed to have _that_ many secrets."

* * *

><p>Charles' dad dropped them off in the parking lot, the minivan sputtering to a stop. Mr. Kaznyk wiped his brow and turned in his seat to face the assembled film crew. "Alright guys, I'll be back before ten to pick you up—"<p>

"Woooo!" Cary whooped and wriggled out of his seatbelt, throwing open the door of the van. The others leapt out one by one, their feet thumping onto the cement, and Charles ran around and opened the trunk so that they could start unloading their gear.

Mr. Kaznyk shook his head. "I swear we never had this much fun as children," he muttered to himself. "Kids these days, with their TV shows, and their comic books…"

Joe grabbed his makeup toolbox with one hand and a bag of costumes with the other. Preston pulled out the camera tripod and swung it over his shoulder, almost smacking Alice in the head with it. As usual when everyone was excited, about three different conversations were happening at once.

Charles: "Okay, Martin, you're in this scene, but all you have to do is—"

Martin: "I'm supposed to be acting?! I haven't even seen my lines!"

Alice: "If our _esteemed director_ is telling the truth, apparently we don't have lines."

Martin: "We don't have lines? What kind of movie IS this?"

Cary: "Hey, Preston, you can play piano, right? Do you wanna join my band?"

Preston: "Yes, I play the piano. No, I do not want to join your band."

Rachel: "Um… do you want me to carry anything?"

Charles: "It's a good movie. Have you seen The Godfather?"

Alice: "Nope."

Martin: "Your parents let you watch The Godfather?"

Charles: "It has this collection of scenes in it – it's called a montage – that doesn't have any dialogue. Instead, it's set to music. That's what I'm trying to do."

Preston: "Is anyone actually in your band, or is it just a hypothetical concept?"

Cary: "I'm in my band. Joe said he'd be in it too."

Joe: "I totally didn't."

Rachel: "Hey, do you need me to take something?"

Joe smiled. "You can carry this if you want – thanks." He gave her the makeup box and the bag and went to grab something heavier. Rachel had been silent for the whole trip, sitting quietly in the back of the van, but it _was_ pretty difficult to get a word in when the rest of them were chatting away. Charles' dad waved them goodbye, and together, they started walking down the shore.

The location for tonight's filming was Mammoth Lake, ten miles north of town. In contrast to expectations it was actually fairly small – shaped a bit like a horseshoe, and you could easily see the far side – but some well-preserved mammoth fossils had been found there in the 1800s and given it its name. The lake was nestled in the Lillian foothills, fed by a tributary from the Great Lakes to the north, and was surrounded on every side by thick coniferous woodland. Fallen branches littered the beach. On this particular evening the surface was calm, lapping at the gravelly shore.

Because it was the only significant body of water nearby, the lake had been developed into a local tourist spot. From the parking lot, a wide path led through the forest, to a group of log cabins by the water (simple, but nice to stay at for a weekend). Next to the cabins was a small clearing, featuring a general store and an information centre about mammoths. An old, weather-beaten boat shed squatted on the beach with a jetty stretching out into the water. In the very centre of the lake was a tiny island – lush, green, barely rising above the surface – that had been the site of countless childhood adventures and treasure hunts.

As they rounded a bend in the path, the sun flashed from the surface of the lake. It was low, almost at the hilltops; long shadows fell across the forest. Light rippled on the water with a magical yellow glow, painting the world around them in a warm, golden haze.

Charles stopped in his tracks. "Oh my god. That light…" he breathed. "That light is _amazing_. Guys, we have to hurry – HURRY!" Charles started running, head bobbing up and down. The rest of them followed a second later with varying degrees of confusion.

"Charles, what are we—"

"Faster! We've only got a few minutes before the sun sets!" he yelled.

"If I run any faster I'm going to drop the camera!" Martin protested.

"FASTER!"

Luckily, the path was downhill the entire way, so the run wasn't too tiring. The only thing Joe had to worry about was tripping over his own feet; he skidded on a patch of pine needles and almost fell flat on his face.

"You okay?" Alice asked, somewhere behind him.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." His heart thumped.

"Charles, where are we _going_?" Preston asked.

"To the pier! Hurry!"

They jogged past the log cabins, huffing and puffing, past the store, then up the ramp to the boat shed, awkwardly carrying their strange collection of poles and bags and cables. "Great! Put everything here!" Charles ordered. "Oh man, the lighting is amazing—"

Gratefully, they dumped their gear on the deck that surrounded the boat shed. The shed was ten yards to a side and made of blue-painted weatherboard; it stood half in, half out of the water on thick wooden pylons.

"Okay, we're filming on the end of the pier," Charles announced. "I want the camera set up, but we don't need the microphone. Martin and Alice are acting. Got it?"

"No!" Alice said, an edge of frustration in her voice. "Charles, it'd be _great_ if we knew what the hell we're doing!"

"All you've gotta do is stand there – don't worry about it. Now, costumes…" He looked at them critically. "Your clothes are pretty okay actually, maybe try adding one of those coats on top. Preston, did you bring the coats?"

"_Yes_, Charles, I brought the coats."

For a moment, no one moved, waiting for further instructions.

"…What are you waiting for? Go!"

They sprang into action, falling into their usual roles like pieces of a puzzle. Cary loaded film into the camera, clicking the reels into place. Joe ran an extension cord around the back of the shed and searched for the nearest plug. Martin tried on a couple of costumes. Their director walked this way and that, framing shots with his hands, muttering to himself urgently.

Alice merely rolled her eyes at Charles' bossiness and leaned against the railing. Rachel stood quietly next to her, a little confused by the bustle, and Alice gave her a slight smile. _That was me, three months ago; how quickly things change…_

"Pretty crazy, huh?" Alice said.

Rachel nodded. "I wish I could help more, but I have no idea what's happening."

"Trust me, it looks more complicated than it is. Have you done anything like this before?"

"No – I don't usually watch movies. I prefer books."

"Do you do lots of reading?"

"We move around a lot, so… yeah."

"I know the feeling. My dad used to drift around like a raft in the ocean; my mom still does, I guess."

"Haha." Rachel smiled. "Some people really enjoy that kind of life."

"Not you, though," Alice suggested.

"Sometimes. Not particularly."

She was still a complete enigma, that girl. Nice, but… cagey. Alice decided that at some point in the near future, she'd try and trap Rachel in a room and have a nice, long, one-on-one conversation with her. _It's harder to get to know some people than others, but most of the time it's worth the effort. Besides, she came along tonight, didn't she? She didn't have to say yes. Come to think of it, why did _I_ say yes, when Charles asked me? _

_I guess… I was curious. I guess I just wanted to do something _different.

_ I wonder what her reason is. _

The light glinted off the water, harsh, golden and pure. Alice shielded her eyes and turned to check on the others—

"Come on, come on, hurry! Get the camera ready!" Charles rushed past, still in panic mode. "Alice, Martin, follow me!"

* * *

><p>"Stand here." Charles pointed to a spot at the very end of the pier. Martin dutifully stepped forwards to where he'd indicated. "Alice, you stand next to him. Now, I want you to look out over the water."<p>

They turned, their figures silhouetted against the lake by the light of the setting sun. Cary and Joe placed the camera on its tripod a few metres behind them, pointing at their backs, and Charles peered through the lens for a second. "That's great. You're supposed to be a couple, like on a date, so try and make it look romantic."

"Charles, I can't see," Martin said glumly. "The sun's too bright."

"Close your eyes, it doesn't matter. We can only see your back anyway."

"Okay…"

Martin and Alice waited their awkwardly, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the water.

"Martin, you're meant to be in love. Put your arm around her or something," Charles said.

"Put my—" Martin twisted round. "How?"

Cary snorted. "Like this, dumbass." He hooked his hand around Joe's back, jerked him sideways and came awfully close to grabbing his butt. Joe yelped in protest.

"Hey!"

Martin glanced at Joe, then Alice, then slowly shuffled over. "Fine, fine." He put his arm around her lower back, and they leaned together slightly. Alice rested her head on Martin's shoulder, their cheeks nearly touching. Charles looked through the camera again.

"Woah, that is _mint_. Stay exactly like that."

The scene _was _beautiful, Joe realised; Charles was right. The light danced off the water in a magical, almost ethereal way, and through the camera lens, the world was reduced to two colours: sparkling gold outlines and deep black silhouettes. Martin and Alice were a single shape at the centre of the frame, the ends of Alice's hair creating a delicate spray of shadow.

But right now, their director didn't have time for beauty. "Cut!" he shouted. "That's great. Pack everything up, we're moving."

"Where?" Alice asked, untangling herself from Martin's arm.

"To the log cabins. I wanna use that path that runs between them while it's still light. Can you guys change your costumes?"

"To what?"

"Anything. Just change it – shirt, pants, everything. The next scene's meant to be a different day."

"And where are we supposed to get changed?" Martin asked.

Charles turned on him. "God, Martin, just go behind a building or something! It's only your underwear, it's not like we're going to look!" He glanced at Alice, suddenly a little flustered. "We won't look. I promise."

"It's no big deal," Alice said. "Rachel can stand guard for me."

Then Preston came jogging up the pier, carrying a bundle of clothes; he held up a collared shirt and long pants, plus a formal-ish skirt and blouse. A tie managed to escape his fingers but he quickly snatched it up before it fell into the water. "Charles, are these okay?"

"Yeah, awesome. Let's go!"

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, Alice and Martin emerged from behind separate buildings, dressed in their new outfits. Charles beckoned them over to where the camera was already set up: it was pointing down the paved path that led between the dozen-or-so log cabins, bounded on all sides by old, green pine trees. The sun had almost set below the hills, its light growing dimmer, apart from the few puffs of cloud above that were still streaked with gold.<p>

Charles explained, as quickly as he could. "In this scene, you're walking down the path and talking to each other. Imagine you're coming back from a fancy restaurant – you're walking, but kinda slowly, like you don't really care where you're going, but you want to enjoy each other's company."

"You said we're talking," Alice replied. "What about?"

"Doesn't matter. We're not recording sound. As long as it looks like you're happy, it's fine." He winked. "See? I promised you there'd be no lines."

"Aaaalright, I believe you." Alice and Martin walked to the far end of the path where it curled around the cabins into the forest. Then they turned, and started walking back towards the camera. Alice stuck her elbow out and Martin slipped his arm in hers in a vague facsimile of a couple.

"So, talking about nothing…" Alice began.

"Yep," Martin replied. "Chatting chatting chatting. Still talking. Making conversation."

"That's c_learly_ not realistic," Preston said.

"Yeah – talk about school or something!" Charles suggested. "Or what did you have for dinner?"

Alice grinned, looking into Martin's eyes. "What did _I_ have for dinner? I had some sausages, and some mashed potato, and some steamed broccoli."

Martin shrugged, smiling too. "We ordered pizza. My parents couldn't be bothered cooking."

"Lucky."

"Yeah, and it was super good pizza. Wanna know what I had for dinner yesterday?"

"Well, why not? We've still got twenty yards to go."

They weaved from side to side, crossing from the left side of the path to the right while Charles followed them with the camera. The windows of the cabins were completely dark as they passed; now that the holidays were over, the campsite was much less busy. A windchime hung from one of the gutters, perfectly still. Their shadows stretched out before them.

"Favourite pizza flavour?" Alice asked.

"Definitely Meatlovers. What's yours?"

"Hawaiian all the way. My dad hates pineapple though, so we don't get it often."

"Right. Okay." Martin paused, desperately searching for a topic. "Uh… What's your favourite animal?"

"Turtles."

"Okay, now pretend to laugh!" Charles called out.

Martin contorted his face into a smile, then let out the weirdest, fakest cackle that Joe had ever heard. "Hahahahaha! Hahaha! Hahahahaha!" Luckily, the trees muffled most of it, because it sounded like he was possessed by a demon (or maybe like a witch about to boil a pot of children).

Alice snorted and covered her mouth. "What was that?" she asked, hiding a few giggles of her own.

"I don't know. I don't know. That was really bad. I'm sorry. Charles, I hate you."

"Keep walking," Charles murmured, focused on the camera. "Five, four, three, two, one— cut!"

Gratefully, they came to a stop, just outside the lens' field of view.

"That was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Cary said.

Martin glared at him. "Shut up."

* * *

><p>Charles' new obsession with light had sprung from an article he'd read in Filmmaker Magazine. Quality lighting was one of the most important elements of any professional-looking production, and the article had discussed several recognisable movie scenes and how lighting had influenced their mood and feel. It was valuable to have good artificial lighting, but great natural light could also have brilliant effects – so, when they'd arrived at the lake a half-hour before sunset, it was literally a golden opportunity.<p>

And, gradually, the rest of them began to understand what Charles was trying to do. He explained – in between running around and barking out orders – that this, as usual, was about creating an emotional connection. While in _The Case_, this had been done using only one scene, a montage could use multiple short scenes to _appear_ to show much more while still taking the same amount of time. Essentially, you were showing snapshots of a life, or a relationship, and making the audience's imagination do most of the work by filling in the in-between.

* * *

><p><em>A wordless sequence, following two people in love: they meet by chance, in an aisle at the supermarket. She's looking for a jar on the top shelf, and with his height, he's able to reach up and hand it to her. She smiles gratefully. Most moments like this are lost in time, and never blossom into anything more, but they keep running into each other at the same supermarket. They talk. He starts to look forward to their chance meetings, and on a whim, he asks her out to dinner.<em>

_ The dinner is nice. It goes well. They both agree to see each other again (a scene Charles intends to film at the local diner). Gradually, although they don't realise it, they spend more and more time together, because they make each other happy._

_ They walk down a deserted twilit street, arm in arm, deep in conversation._

_ The sit on a park bench beneath a streetlamp, sharing a warm drink._

_ They stand on the end of a pier, watching the sunset, the only two people in the world._

_ Before they know it, they've moved in together. The house is old but full of character. They paint their names on the mailbox in bright, cheerful colours. It's comfortable. Peaceful. Happy._

_ He asks her to dance, and they spin around in harmony (for production value, Charles wants to record this at the school ball)._

_ They sit in a car, driving to work in the rain._

_ They lie on a picnic rug, surrounded by emerald, and she points at a cloud that looks like a baby boy._

* * *

><p>An hour later, it was almost completely dark. Most of the forest was grey and shadowy – it was generally an unfriendly place at night – but the lamps next to the cabins had automatically switched on, creating islands of light around the lake. Moths swarmed against the bulbs, wings fluttering, <em>pitter-patter, pitter-patter<em>. The mosquitoes had come out in force as well and were rising from the water with seemingly insatiable bloodlust; only the generous application and stink of insect repellent kept them at arm's length.

"Alright," Charles said. "This one's going to need some explaining."

They were huddled in front of the information centre, directly beneath the streetlight that marked its entrance (if you pressed your face up against the windows, you would've seen an enormous, proud mammoth skeleton, barely distinguishable from the blackness inside). "This is the last scene, for today at least. It takes place a few minutes after the others – what happens is we get the introduction montage, then the first day of the movie, and then this happens at the end of the first day. This is what drives the whole plot, so it's important."

Despite the lateness, and the mosquitoes, Charles had their full attention. Of course he did; they were just getting to the fun part. Secretly, he'd kinda planned it that way, to go out with a bang and ensure that everyone was excited to make the rest. _I'm excited. It's going to be great. The only thing I need is one little spark to make it all work._

"The actors in this scene are Alice, Martin, Preston, Cary and… Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"You're up." Charles grinned at her. "Still glad you agreed to help out?"

"Um, definitely," she said, not sounding particularly definite. "What do I have to do?"

"Not much. It's a cinch – just walk and shoot."

* * *

><p>Preston slithered awkwardly onto the roof of the campsite's general store, grabbing one of the tiles and using it to lever himself upward. With a short jump, he managed to swing his legs onto the roof as well, cursing as his shirt caught an edge.<p>

"Okay, I'm up!" he called out. He turned and knelt down at the corner of the roof, peering over the edge to where Martin was waiting below him. "Pass me the light."

Martin took the spotlight and lifted it above his head. Preston grabbed the handle and pulled it up, carefully placing it on the tiles next to him. Then came the stand, a flimsy, three-legged metal contraption, and finally Martin threw him the end of an extension cord. "I think that's everything," he announced.

"Thank you." Preston began connecting things together, undoing the stand's screws so he could attach the spotlight. Charles wanted the scene to be lit from above but apparently none of the lights around the campsite were in the right spot – _so here I am, crawling around a bug-infested roof while trying to get this stupid thing to stay upright. _The roof was sloped, which made it difficult to keep the lamp level, and on top of that the power cord wasn't _quite_ long enough.

Martin watched from below, staring upwards. Preston heard him grumble about something and glanced down. "What are you whispering about?"

Martin shrugged. "Nothing."

"Stop looking up my shorts."

"Why would I? There's nothing to see."

"There's plenty to see," Preston muttered defensively. "Oooh, look, there's a dead bird up here."

"Just keep working, Wonder Woman."

_Wonder Woman? That doesn't even make sense._

Down at ground level, Cary was busy setting up the capgun. He loaded some caps and checked the hammer, while next to him Alice prepared the boom mike (really, this just meant taping a microphone onto the end of a broom handle, but it worked). She wound up the cables and plugged one end into the Super 8 camera, with the other end leading into Charles' headphones.

Without warning, Cary fired a trio of shots into the air. _BANGBANGBANG!_

Alice squeaked in shock. "Eeek! What the _hell_, Cary!"

The sound rolled across the lake, sharp, then fading, giving a rude awakening to several flocks of sleeping birds. Cary grinned. "I just wanted to check if it still works… It totally does."

"Yeah, I heard. Ow." Alice rubbed her ears. "Next time try doing it _away_ from my face."

"Like this?" He pointed the gun at the forest and—

_BANG!_

"Cary, don't!" Charles yelled from across the clearing. "If you do that one more time I'll murder you, I swear. Preston, how's that light going?"

In a quiet corner, Joe opened his make-up box. Rachel waited next to him with her hands in her pockets. She observed curiously as he sorted through the brushes and containers and dyes, wondering how to create the effect Charles wanted. _'Tired,'_ he'd said. _'Kind of desperate_,_ like she's been awake for days. Not cartoonish, or evil, but— well, okay, maybe a little bit evil.' _Making someone look tired was easy enough, but Charles also wanted an extra hint of menace. _Maybe I can add something to the cheekbones…_

"It seems strange for a boy to be good at doing makeup," Rachel murmured, "no offence."

"I guess it is weird. I only do cool makeup, though," he replied.

"Cool makeup?"

"Yeah. Movie makeup. That's my excuse, anyway."

_Well, whatever makeup you do, you're probably better at it than me,_ Rachel thought. Joe looked up, glancing around the campsite. "So to do this, I need to be able to see you… How about over there?" He pointed at a well-lit spot between a couple of trees.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>Rachel stood perfectly still as Joe reached out and dabbed some grey powder beneath her eyes. "This is to make you look tired," he explained. "Like you have… wait, what do they call it again? Like you have…"<p>

"Like you've got bags under your eyes," she finished.

"Yeah, that's it."

She blinked at the touch of the cloth on her skin. Joe leaned back and gazed at her critically; he added a couple more small strokes, then opened his toolbox, searching for something else.

She'd been very, very close to refusing Charles's invitation on Monday. Her second thought after he'd asked her to come was to, well – have second thoughts. (Her first thought was something like '_why are you being annoying and talking during silent reading?_') She hadn't known what the movie project was; she hadn't known _him_, really. The easiest choice would've been to say no. _Sorry, I'm busy. Thanks for the invitation though._

But, despite everything, she'd said yes. It was good to get to know people, right? It would be useful to have a few friends around town. Besides, Charles and his group were the kind of people she usually _liked_ to hang out with – people who weren't particularly confident, or cool, but who were just happy doing their own thing. People who were different.

In the back of her mind, a voice whispered, _maybe this isn't such a good idea. In a year or two, you'll just move away again. Knowing them only makes it harder. And bad things sometimes happen to the people you care about…_

But, as she'd learned, it was better to live in the present that in fear. Joe found what he was looking for and unscrewed a small tin, dipping a paintbrush inside.

"Hold still," he murmured. He brushed something onto her cheeks, smooth and cold. It tickled. "Have you done any acting before?"

"No. Never." _Don't shake your head._

"It's easy, trust me. You'll definitely do better than I did."

She'd thought about telling Charles she didn't know how to act, but then she realised she'd been acting her entire life. _That has to be good practice… even if it's for a different reason. _Joe was concentrating intensely, lips moving in a silent count.

One of the many things her dad taught her was how to read people. It was part of his job, in the military, and it was a very useful skill (it also meant Rachel was pretty difficult to read herself). And the boy standing before her, smiling as he applied her makeup, was strange. Not in a bad way, but there was something about him that was hidden. He was very friendly and open on the outside, but inside, behind his eyes, there was a strength that was surprising – as if he'd changed, somehow, from someone who'd been broken into someone who'd never break. He seemed… slightly guarded, too, as if he knew more than he was letting on.

Like most things to do with people, it was hard to explain.

"Okay," Joe said. "Time to do the other side. Sorry that this is taking so long."

"No problem, take your time." Rachel turned her other cheek towards the light and went over in her head what Charles wanted her to do. _Just walk and shoot._

* * *

><p>Martin and Alice stood by the water, facing the dark expanse of the lake. They were at the edge of a circle of light – behind them, half the campsite was illuminated from overhead by a flickering amber glow. Cary and Preston were at the rear of the scene, Cary walking, Preston sitting on a bench, acting as random bystanders.<p>

Martin bent down and picked up a stone from the beach. With one hand, he launched it out over the water, and it skipped lightly across the surface.

"It's beautiful," Alice murmured.

"Not as beautiful as you," Martin replied softly. "I think that… I can imagine spending the rest of my life with you."

"Can you?" Alice smiled. "It's a nice feeling, isn't it. _Love_."

Charles angled the camera to point at their faces, mere inches away from getting his feet wet in the lake. Next to him, Joe held the boom mike just out of frame (and he _was_ getting his feet wet).

Martin swallowed. Slowly, he got down on one knee. "Will you marry me? I'm sorry it's like this. I'm sorry there's no ring, or flowers. It's not how I imagined it would be. But here, now… I have to ask. I have to know."

"Don't be silly, of course I'll marry you. You should've asked a long time ago." Alice grabbed his hand, pulled him to his feet. "I love you. I always have, and always will."

Martin grinned with relief. "I love you too. But first, there's something I have to tell you. Something very important. I—"

Unexpectedly, a shadowy figure appeared in the scene behind them. Instantly, Martin froze – as if he'd been touched by a ghost. He turned around.

"What's wrong?" Alice asked.

The figure entered the light. It was a girl, dressed in black. She had black hair, too, and dark eyes, and a face covered by shadows. Her left hand was in her pocket and she walked towards them with a sense of purpose, a sense of _menace_ that was in shocking contrast to their surroundings.

Calmly, she raised her hand. In it was a gun.

Suddenly, the world snapped into slow motion. (This was the tricky part – since their camera couldn't actually film in slow motion, they had to pretend to _be_ in slow motion, which felt really stupid when you were doing it). Martin's eyes widened in shock. The woman walked towards them, inescapable, inevitable, crossing the circle of light. Slowly, she came into focus. Her face was drawn, tired, curiously empty, but her jaw was clenched in determination as she looked down the barrel of her pistol. Alice looked… confused, unable to react.

Then, suddenly, Rachel caught her foot on a bump in the pavement. She stumbled forwards, attempted to keep the slow-mo walk going for another second, then gave up, her face breaking into a smile. _This is so ridiculous_.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess it up," she said apologetically.

Charles shook his head. "No problem! It was mint up till then. Everyone, let's run it from the top—"

* * *

><p>"Don't be silly, of course I'll marry you. You should've asked a long time ago. I love you. I always have, and always will."<p>

"I love you too. But first, there's something I have to tell you. Something very important. I—"

The figure appeared. So did the gun. Time slowed down.

This time, though, she didn't trip. Instead, she kept walking, closer and closer, the barrel of the pistol held dead straight. She was unstoppable. Alice's mouth opened in horror. Martin started to duck, started to run and—

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_ Three quick shots to the chest.

The world sped up again, and things happened very quickly. Martin threw himself backwards, collapsing onto the shore. He pulled a hidden string in his pocket and a trio of pre-set blood capsules erupted beneath his shirt (Joe's newest special effects toy). Red bloomed. Alice gasped. Cary and Preston whirled around towards the disturbance. Rachel stood there, watching her target die, no hint of emotion on her face.

"Cut!" Charles yelled.

Alice stepped back, her shoulders slumping. "So what happens then – am I supposed to look sad? Do you want me to try and cry, like before?"

"We'll do that stuff next time," Charles replied. "You'll go and kneel down next to Martin's body – if you can cry, that's good, obviously, but being in shock is the main thing – and then Rachel will run away, and you'll run after her, and then the time travel thing will happen. Basically, it's supposed to be really unexpected the first time, like a dream almost, or a nightmare. I still have to figure out how to make the time travel stuff look cool though. Maybe I can spin the camera around, or zoom it in or something…" He trailed off, the wheels already turning in his mind.

In the middle of the circle of light, Rachel waited, still holding the gun. She gazed at it curiously, then activated the safety the way Cary had shown her. _Definitely an unusual start to a love story_, she thought to herself. _I wonder what I've gotten myself into. Judging by what's happened so far, the answer will be pretty interesting. _She looked around at her friends – were they already her friends? She supposed so, although she'd just shot one of them – and a faint smile appeared on her lips. With all that'd happened in the past couple of years, it had been a long time since a place had felt so much like… home.

Charles glanced at his watch. "Guys, it's nearly ten, so my dad's gonna be here in twenty minutes!" he announced. "We have to do this scene one more time! Joe, is the blood ready?"

"Yep, sorted."

"Martin, what about your costume?"

"All clean."

"Cary, cap gun?"

"There's three shots left."

"Great. Everyone, back to your starting positions!" He took a deep breath as they scrambled to their stations. "And lights… camera… action!"

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Longest chapter yet, but I hope you enjoyed it! There were a few fun bits in there :-). This is the last 'setup' chapter before things start exploding (metaphorically at first… literally a bit later), so things are about to get more interesting. And, as always, I'll be FOREVER GRATEFUL if you could leave a review, because they do mean a lot and are super helpful. Thanks!<em>


	29. The Forest

'_The small town of Inaba was, for many years, an unremarkable settlement in rural Japan. Known for its beef products and the local hot springs, Inaba was – for most – a rest stop on the way to other, more vital destinations. However, this changed dramatically in 1979 when video footage emerged of an encounter with a so-called 'akuma' or 'demon'. The chilling images, including some taken at a child's birthday party, were among the first to be released to the public containing indisputable evidence of alien activity. Mere months after the Lillian incident in North America that same year, Inaba became a hotbed for unexplained events. More and more sightings were reported. The town became shrouded in an unnaturally thick fog. The population were gripped by mass hysteria. The ensuing investigation was spearheaded by both the Japanese government and the journalist who originally leaked the tape: Rise Kujikawa of Tokyo…'_

_An excerpt from 'First Contact: Alien Activity in the 20__th__ Century', by Maria Bolleli_

* * *

><p><span>The Forest<span>

He was standing in a forest. He didn't know why. The trees, though, were familiar; the shape of the land, the muffled sounds, the scent of pine needles in the back of his throat…

He was somewhere around Lillian. _But where?_

Joe took a few small steps forward. Nothing seemed immediately out of the ordinary. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the slightly damp, foggy air and turned around slowly, taking in his new surroundings.

The trees were tall with thin, straight trunks, stretching irregularly into the distance. They stood utterly still – statues in a living museum where no leaf dared to fall. Their branches crossed and intersected above his head, spreading twigs and leaves in wide, flat fans. Beneath them, the undergrowth was giant's carpet of moss and springy green ferns. Above, the sky vanished almost completely; only a few fragments of blue remained as pieces of an impossible puzzle. The air was rich with the smells of loam and decaying leaves. Outside it was early afternoon but here, inside the forest, everything was cool and fresh, and the colours had the gentle softness of the time just before twilight.

The merest hint of a path wound through the trees to his left. With nothing else in particular on his mind, he began to follow it.

_Why am I here?_

Something rustled in the undergrowth. A squirrel, maybe. The path led between rocks and ferns, into the fog in the distance. He stretched out a hand. Rough tree bark passed beneath his fingers.

After a couple of minutes, he found a hint of civilisation. It was a building of some kind, looming out of the foliage… not threateningly, but with the ancient, steadfast air of something that had been there for a very, very long time.

It was an old watermill. The walls were made of stone, and the roof had half-collapsed. It had to be at least a hundred years old, maybe more. The door had long rotted away, leaving behind a dark, empty portal. Ivy strangled the windows, and the remnants of a waterwheel jutted from its side. He assumed that once upon a time a river had flowed beside it, but now, the only hint of water was the dew dripping from the trees.

For some reason, he felt the need to go inside. To step into the doorway, like… like a prisoner into a cell. The ruins pulled him forwards. He needed to go inside, to look up at the hole in the roof, to follow the light down into the cellar to find it buried in the earth—

Joe woke up.

Disorientation. Sunlight. Birds chirping. His alarm clock blared at him from his bedside table – _BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP _– and he rolled over and switched it off with one floppy arm. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling. Gradually, the forest faded, replaced by the more domestic sights of schoolbooks and models and piles of discarded clothes.

Morning sun streamed through his bedroom window. Joe twisted to look at the clock. _8:30_... _Why did I set my alarm so early? Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to go see Charles today. _

Charles was one of those people with boundless energy who apparently didn't need any sleep (despite getting back from the lake late last night). And Cary, well – Cary was a freak of nature. Once during the holidays, he'd stayed up for three days straight on a sugar high and had appeared perfectly fine afterwards. Then again, it was difficult to tell if sleep-deprived Cary was any different from normal Cary.

_That was a pretty weird dream_, Joe thought to himself. Sniffing a little, he threw back the covers and started looking for a clean set of clothes.

* * *

><p>Saturday morning in Lillian had the kind of lively laziness you often found in smaller country towns – lots of people out and about, but in no particular hurry to be anywhere. Cars sputtered up and down the main street. The diner was filled with late breakfast guests. Kids played baseball at the local field in the first game of the Under-16's league. Light flashed off the newly-painted water tower. Slowly, the town was recovering.<p>

Charles and Joe rode along the sidewalk, the wheels of their bikes a shining blur. As usual when Charles was obsessed with a project, everything had to be done ASAP – which included getting the film developed from last night.

"Does Donny even _do_ camera stuff anymore?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't he?"

"I figured that since his shop got destroyed when the spaceship left, he might've... given up, or whatever."

"No way! People have insurance for when that happens."

"You can't get insurance for aliens, Charles."

"But you _can_ get it for accidents. Technically, this whole thing was only an accident." Charles sighed as they skidded to a stop on the opposite side of the street, across from the still-present Olsen's Cameras. "Look, see? It's fine."

They dumped their bikes by the grocery store and half-walked, half-ran across the road. By nine-thirty it appeared that the shop was already open and Charles led the way as they ducked through the door, slinging his aging backpack in one hand (Joe was surprised it hadn't fallen apart yet; he'd had the same bag since second grade). The interior of the electronics shop remained vaguely familiar, but now it was… newer. Nicer. The shelves were wider, made of glass that had yet to be smudged by fingerprints. Downlights cast the camera and audio equipment in a flattering yellow glow. Everything had a new price tag attached and lenses glinted in the shadows. And, behind the cash register, stood Donny Olsen himself.

He'd changed.

"Woah," Charles murmured. In place of Donny's usual shoulder-length hair and scruffy beard were a neat, businesslike haircut and clean-shaven cheeks. He wore a blue collared shirt and dark pants, a name badge pinned to his pocket. For once his eyes seemed vaguely alert; the space behind the counter was definitely missing its usual smoky, odd-smelling haze.

"Hello," he said, a peculiar lilt in his voice. "Welcome to Olsen's Cameras and Hi-Fi. How can I help you today?"

Charles paused. "Uh – hey. We were hoping to get some film developed."

"Sure, I can do that. What've you got?"

"It's two reels of Super 8, plus audio." Charles walked up to the counter and opened his backpack. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Normal service is around a week."

"Is there any chance you could do it in three days?"

"Three days? Maybe. I can't promise anything, but business has been pretty quiet at the moment." Donny took the film calmly and stuck a small label on it, then placed it on the shelf behind him. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

Joe shot Charles a '_this is weird_' look. He cleared his throat. "Um… Donny?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For helping us out a couple of months ago, when that… stuff… happened. It was really cool to lend us your car. I hope nothing happened to it."

Donny frowned – and suddenly, recognition dawned in his eyes. "_Oh_! It's you dudes! I remember you, you're the bossy one! Wow, that was such a weird night."

"…Was I bossy?"

"Yeah, totally! And _you're_ the one with the hot sister."

"It's creepy how everyone keeps saying that," Charles muttered.

"You're right. I'm sorry, we shouldn't objectify women."

"Oh. OK."

Charles shrugged, unsure of how to react. There was a pause as Joe tried to convince himself that he wasn't the bossy one in their relationship."You look like you're doing well," he said eventually.

"I am. I really am," Donny said. "And it's kinda thanks to you."

"Um... really?"

"Totally! Because that night, when I was with you guys, I saw some things, ya know? Some really strange shi— stuff. A bus crash, explosions, some kind of spaceship... even a monster. Can you believe it? A monster! UFOs! So crazy."

"Yeah, crazy…"

"No waaayyy…"

"I know it sounds strange, but it seemed so _real_. And afterwards, when I realised all that stuff I was seeing wasn't there, and that my mind wasn't working as it should… it really made me re-evaluate my life. So, I changed. I decided to fix myself. I wanted to think clearly again." He sighed, a little mournfully. "I only wish I'd done it sooner."

"Wow, that's... great," Charles said, surprised.

"Yeah, awesome," Joe echoed.

"Thanks, dudes. Life is so much better now, it honestly is. Don't do drugs. You should really listen to your teachers in school."

"…so three days?"

"Sure, three days." Donny smiled. "But only 'cause you guys are cool."

* * *

><p>"You wanna go to the 7-11?" Charles asked. They were walking up the street towards the steel mill, their reflections smiling in the wide shop windows. An infusion of sugar andor chocolate was a good way to start a Saturday morning.

"Donny seems normaller now— more normal, I mean," Joe said.

"Definitely. It's think it's neat – everyone used to say he was weird."

"They weren't wrong. Hey, did he ever end up going out with your sister?"

"I dunno. Once, maybe. Jen never said anything about it."

A couple of birds flew low across the footpath, chirping musically to one another. For some reason, the sound reminded Joe of his dream... walking through the motionless, misty forest, surrounded by subtle hints of life.

"So last night," he began, "I had this really strange dream."

Charles was immediately anxious. "Oh, man. Don't say that."

"Why?"

"No offence, but any 'strange dreams' you start having probably mean the world's about to end. Or that another alien monster is coming to eat us."

"It's not _that_ bad!"

"I'm just saying that weird telepathic alien visions don't usually lead to happy endings, that's all." Charles sighed, wiping his forehead. "Okay, hit me. What was your dream about?"

Unlike most dreams which soon faded with the sunrise, the memory of this one was perfectly clear in his mind. "Well, it started in a forest. I was standing in a forest, but I didn't know why I was there. It looked kinda like the forests around here."

"Go on."

"The forest was really quiet for some reason, and felt really… old. Ancient. And I was following a path, and soon I came to this building. The building was old too, basically ruined. It was dark, but for some reason I wanted to step inside."

"…go on."

"It was like it was drawing me forwards, and I _knew_ that there was something buried underneath it. I don't know what it was, but I felt like I had to find it, or… dig it up, somehow."

"What did the building look like?"

"Um, nothing much. It was made of stone, the roof was collapsed… it was one of those places they use for making flour and stuff. Next to a river. A—"

"Watermill?" Charles finished. "Oh, _maaaan._"

Joe frowned. "How did you know that?"

"Because I had the same dream, idiot! I knew this was bad news!"

"So you remember the forest too?"

"Yes, obviously! I knew it was bad, I knew it! Ugh!" Charles came to a stop, furious at the world in general. "I hate this! I don't like having this weird _stuff_ bouncing around our heads. Why us? What if it gets more serious? What if next time I'm riding a bike some alien decides to invade my brain and I run into a fence and break my neck?"

"Charles, that won't happen."

"But what if it does? It could, right? I thought we were _done_ with all this!"

Joe gripped his friend's shoulders. They were standing in front of the town dentist – Martin's dad's clinic, in fact – and beside them, the slogan on the window announced, far too happily: _'The world always looks brighter from behind a great smile'. _A giant plastic tooth model hung from the ceiling inside.

"Charles, listen to me. It's going to be fine," he said firmly. "We'll figure this out, we always do. It could just be a coincidence."

"But I— is that Martin's dad?"

Joe glanced through the window. It was Martin's dad, and – _that woman. _Joe immediately pulled Charles out of sight a few metres back along the path.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"Just wait there." Joe crept forwards and, slowly, peered around the edge of the window.

Inside the dentist's office, it was dark. The sign on the door was flipped to 'closed'. The waiting room couches were empty. But there behind the receptionist's desk was Victor Haverford, wearing the usual grey suit, and he... _he's_ _hugging_ _that woman we met at Martin's house the other day._ _What was her name? Carol?_

It was a very long, friendly hug.

"Who's that?" Charles whispered, quietly creeping up behind him. "Did Mrs. Haverford get a makeover?"

"No. That's not Mrs. Haverford."

"Oh. Then..."

Joe watched, staying very still. The pair's arms were wrapped around each other, his fingers running through her long blonde hair, hers stroking his shoulder. He leant close and whispered something in her ear and she laughed, beaming happily.

Then Carol stepped back, picking up her handbag from the counter. She waved daintily, blew a kiss. Victor waved back. She turned, and with one last, long look, started walking towards the door, still smiling—

Joe ducked out of the way. "We have to get out of here," he muttered. "Come on."

"But the 7-11's that way!"

"Just walk. She might recognise me."

"You _know_ her?"

"Yeah, I met her at Martin's place. She's his dad's school friend, or something."

"Then what was she… man, this is super weird."

"Tell me about it." Joe kept up the pace, walking quickly. _Don't run, that'll be even more suspicious_. _But if they were hugging like that, it's bad, right? _ _I mean, if _I _hugged another girl like that and Alice saw me, that wouldn't be cool at all. _"Okay, so— crap."

"What?"

"Todd's there."

"That guy who wants to kill you?"

"Not a great description, Charles!"

Todd was, indeed, there. He was at this exact moment walking past the entrance to Olsen's Cameras, heading directly towards them. He was flanked by three of his friends who were similarly tall and impressively muscled – one raggedy kid wasn't even wearing a shirt, which was generally considered pretty badass if you could pull it off in ninth grade.

"We should cross to the other side," Joe mumbled.

"No, don't! He'll follow you and it'll only make it worse. What's the worst he could do, anyway?"

"I _really_ don't want to find out."

"Fine. Then we can turn around and walk the other way."

"But then we'll run into that lady!"

Charles groaned. "For someone who's so nice, you sure have a lot of enemies."

"…Thanks?"

Twenty yards up the street, Todd finally noticed them. His eyes narrowed. He tapped one of his posse on the shoulder.

"Crap," Joe whispered.

"Just walk past them," Charles replied, "nothing's gonna happen. Remember when I was bullied?"

"Sure – in _second grade_."

"It still counts. And the best thing to do is to not pay them any attention. People don't go around beating each other up on the main street, no matter _how_ much they hate you. "

_Well, I guess I can't think of anything better to do. _Joe swallowed and stared straight ahead, focusing on a point in the distance somewhere past the group of oncoming teens. _But this isn't like school, though! There aren't any teachers around to keep everyone in line! _He could feel Todd's eyes boring into him, closer and closer, could see the ugly smirk on his lips, framed by that slick blonde hair. Somewhat more comfortingly he could feel Charles beside him too, a large, stripy-shirted presence.

The distance between them shrank with every step; the air was strangely thick with tension, like a duel in an old Western. At least Joe's fight-or-flight instincts were working well (currently urging him to run the hell away).

"Hey Todd, how's it going?" Charles asked brightly.

"Alright, Charles," he replied darkly.

Closer, closer. His heightened senses made it very difficult to stay calm, and for some reason, it was almost scarier than facing down an angry alien. _It's because I know how this goes_, Joe realised desperately. _I've seen it before. I've seen it happen. _It was like he was walking towards a brick wall. For a terrible moment he thought they'd be stopped or that he _would _have to run – but at the last moment the group parted to let him and Charles through. Relief flooded him. The gap was small and he brushed shoulders with one them, doing his best to ignore that venomous glare and the faint stink of deodorant.

Todd danced sideways as they passed and slammed his elbow into Joe's ribs.

"Ow!" Joe coughed and stumbled onto the curb but stopped himself from looking back. He heard the group snicker loudly to themselves.

_"Haha, good one!"_

_ "Shoulda tripped him."_

"You okay?" Charles murmured.

"Ugh – yeah. Are they leaving?"

Charles glanced over his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, they're miles away. Well, technically yards, but you know what I mean."

"Ow." Joe rubbed his chest, winded. "Could've been worse, I guess."

"Definitely."

It hurt – a sharp, piercing pain that would probably leave a nice bruise. However, it wasn't too long before he could breathe properly again. Joe stole a peek over his shoulder a saw the group round a corner, chuckling and bouncing a ball between them. "So what was that 'Hey Todd' thing about?"

"Just because _you're_ enemies with him doesn't mean I have to be. Besides, being friendly defuses the whole situation. It's basic manipulation." Charles looked rather proud of himself. "Now, about that dream…"

* * *

><p>Rise Kujikawa sat in her office, spinning idly in her chair. It wasn't a big office by most standards: four metres by three, plastered walls, a wooden floor scratched by years of use. Her desk was piled high with files and reams of paper, and several empty cups still bearing the dried remnants of green tea. In the corner were a small TV and a tape player, and shafts of dusty sunlight fell across the screen from the wide, cement-spattered window. (They'd been doing some construction work on the floors above, and of course hadn't bothered to clean up the mess.) Through the window was a view of the Akihabara district of Tokyo: a snaking, grid-like mess of apartment buildings and malls, topped by a forest of TV antennas and light-up billboards.<p>

The chair always helped her think. She'd asked for a new one in the last office survey, and against all odds they'd given it to her. Rise closed her eyes, feet brushing the floor, and took a long, relaxing breath.

The world spun.

When she stopped and opened her eyes again, she was facing the wall; she did a little half-turn back to her desk. The peace lily on the corner was looking a little dry and she made a mental note to water it. Yosuke would be _terribly_ disappointed if she managed to kill his birthday present in the first week.

Now, where was it? Soon she found the sheet of paper that she was looking for, hiding under a dozen others – _'Intra-Border Military Movements in the United States, June 1979'_ – and scanned the contents quickly. There was solid evidence there. Very solid. Certainly enough to support a further investigation. Something very strange was happening, all across the world it seemed, and even if the rest of them didn't trust her instincts, _she_ had to. They'd see.

Rise found another slip of paper, this one with a list of numbers on it. Slowly, she picked up her phone, and dialled the third on the list.

It was an international call. Expensive, probably, but she'd deal with that later.

_Ring ring… ring ring… ring ring…_

No one picked up for an uncomfortably long time, before a sudden click at the other end. Then a voice. American. "_Hello_," it said, _"You've reached the Lillian sheriff's office. This is Jack Lamb speaking."_

"Good morning, Mr. Lamb. My name is Rise Kujikawa. I am a journalist from the Aera magazine in Japan. How are you?"

"_What? Did you say 'Japan?'" _There was an audible delay before he answered, as Rise imagined their voices travelling half-way around the world. _"What are you calling for, Miss Kuji— Kujikawa?"_

"I wanted to ask you some questions about the events that happened in your town during the summer."

"_Oh, hell. Give me a second."_ There was a sort of scratching noise, then the _snap_ of a door closing. _"Okay, that's better. First of all… are you really from Japan?"_

"Hai, watashi wa Nihon kara no yobidashite imasu. That means 'Yes, I am calling from Japan."

"_Wow. I guess that's affirmative. Then forgive me for asking, but what the heck are you callin' _me_ for?"_

Rise smiled. "Well, Mr. Lamb, I need an impartial perspective on what happened in your town. Your phone number was relatively easy to find, and I am hoping that as an honest policeman interested in the protection of your citizens, you will not mind sharing… certain information."

"_I see. And what would this 'certain information' be?"_

"I'm not really sure yet."

"_Well, Miss Kujikawa, that's very helpful."_

"I was hoping to find out. From you."

There was another pause. "_…Alright, Ree-say – am I saying that right?"_

"Yes."

"_Good. Now, Rise, I can't deny that your call's been very interesting, and it's really spruced up my day, but I'm not sure how much I can tell you. I don't know the facts of what's been going on around here. I've only got rumours, and gossip, and anything I've seen with my own two eyes – which isn't much, all things considered."_

"I hope, Mr. Lamb, that it will be enough," she said slowly. "And it's not only what you've seen so far – it's what you're _going _to see in the future…"

* * *

><p>In what was an unusually busy day for Lillian's phone lines, at the same time a much more local call was bouncing across the neighbourhood.<p>

"Cary!" Charles hissed. "I need to talk to you."

_"Sure man. Why are you whispering?"_

"I – I don't know." He moved the receiver to his left hand and unwrapped a 7-11 Snickers bar with other. He was sitting in the corner of the living room while his two younger siblings watched TV on the lounge and Peggy did homework in the kitchen. "Did you have a weird dream last night?"

_"I always have weird dreams, Charles. Usually about your sister."_

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard. Never say that again."

"_At least it wasn't about your mom."_

_ "_Dude!"

_"…Or you."_

"Argh! Shut up!"

_"Alright, fine, keep your pants on. What did you want to tell me again?"_

"I was ASKING, Cary, if you had a weird dream last night."

"_Sure, I had _a_ dream. I don't think it was super weird, but I can tell you about it if you want."_

"Thanks." Charles rolled his eyes. "That's all I needed to hear. How did it start?"

* * *

><p>"I was in the woods or something," Cary said. He was sitting at the dining table, a bowl of cereal in front of him; every couple of seconds he crunched through another mouthful, which created a very lovely sound on the other end of the phone.<p>

"_Yeah, so was I," _Martin replied. _"What is that noise you're making? It's gross."_

"I'm eating cereal."

_"WHY? It's lunchtime!"_

"I woke up, like, an hour ago."

_"WHY?"_

"I was tired, so I slept in. I'm still in my pyjamas. It's great."

_"Ugh. You're terrible."_

"Am not. Come on, Smartin, keep talking about your dream."

_"Okay. So I was a forest, the same as you. It was foggy. I walked for a few minutes, and then I found a house. It was old, like, really old. Like something in a fairytale." _

"Was it definitely a house? What about another type of building."

_"I don't know. I guess it did have that waterwheel beside it? Anyway, I wanted to go inside, even though it was dark. And creepy. For some reason, I knew there was something buried underneath it… I don't know what, though. And then I woke up."_

Despite the bright sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, Cary felt a shiver run down his spine. "Well, Smartin, I'm about to blow your mind. Because—"

* * *

><p>"—guess what? Everyone had the same dream!" Martin said.<p>

There was a distinct pause while Preston contemplated this possibility. _"…You can't be serious."_

"Dead serious."

_"That is completely and utterly ridiculous."_

"I know, but that doesn't change that it happened."

"_All six of us?"_

"Yeah." Martin spun in the hallway to find his sister staring at him, a strange expression on her face. "Um – hold please." He took the receiver from his ear and stood there innocently.

"That is a _really_ weird conversation that you're having there," Abigail said. She'd just returned from her baseball game, still wearing her sweat-crinkled uniform.

"We were only… you know how Charles is always obsessed with movies? We're brainstorming ideas for next one."

"Huh. Okay. Have fun, I guess. Weirdo." She trudged off down the hallway, dragging her bag behind her. When she'd disappeared around the corner Martin picked up the phone again.

"Okay, she's gone. Sorry."

_"Who was that?"_

"My sister. Crisis averted."

"_Ah. But you're SURE everyone had this same dream?"_

"Yeah. Me, you, Charles, Joe, Cary, and we've still gotta call Alice, but… yeah."

"_Hmmm. Then I've got one huge, gigantic, enormous question."_

* * *

><p>"Why?" Preston asked. "What the heck does it mean?"<p>

"_I don't know,"_ Joe said. "_What do you think?"_

"No idea. Why are you asking me? You're the one who got to see that alien's memories."

"_Yes, but I don't know if this is connected, and YOU'RE supposed to be the smart one— wait a second."_

There was silence on the other end of the line. Preston tapped his foot idly as he waited for Joe to return. He was lying on the floor of the living room, staring at the ceiling; sitting normally was much more boring.

_"Sorry, I'm back. I had to let Lucy out before she made a mess."_

"No problem. But how do you know this isn't connected to the alien? It seems like the kind of thing it would do."

"_I didn't say it wasn't connected, I said I didn't know if it WAS_._ If it is related to what happened here, it's pretty different to anything we've seen before._"

"The dream _was_ very ordinary," Preston agreed. "Completely unlike that vision we had a couple weeks ago. That was much more sinister."

_"Yeah. Honestly, I have no idea what this means. Sorry."_

"Don't apologise, none of us have any ideas either." He thought for a moment, analysing possibilities. "So, if we can't work out _why_ this happened, then the next big question is…"

* * *

><p>"<em>What do we do now?" <em>Joe asked.

"That is a fantastic question which I do not have an answer to," Alice replied.

_"Yeah. That's basically what I said."_

Alice twirled the phone's cord around her fingers, staring thoughtfully out the window. The weeds in the garden were starting to outnumber the flowers; she'd have to do something about that. Dad would probably help, and it wouldn't be a big job between the two of them. "Have the others got any suggestions?"

_"No, not really. Everyone just thinks it's weird."_

"Well, it is. It's super weird."

_"Yeah. But if we start by assuming that we had this dream for a reason…"_

"And that it's not a hallucination, or insanity, or psychological trauma."

"_And that it's not all of those things… then what possible reasons are there?"_

"Personally, if we're going along with this, I'd say that the dream's purpose was to show us something. That's what dreams do, right? They show you a scene."

"_Exactly! Everyone ended up at that watermill, so maybe something wants to lead us there."_

Alice felt the phrase echo in her mind: _something wants to lead us there._ It raised more questions than answers. "Everyone wanted to go inside. To go and dig something up."

"_Yes."_

She waited for Joe to add something else, but he didn't. "So," she said quietly. "That's the answer, then."

* * *

><p>"<em>We have to find the place in the dream,"<em> Alice said.

"What do you mean, 'the place in the dream'?" Charles said incredulously. "It's a dream! There's no 'place.'"

_"I think there is. Everyone feels that the forest we saw looks like the woods around Lillian. What if the dream IS trying to lead us to a ruined watermill? There might be a place around here that fits the description. It's worth investigating, anyway."_

"So, what you're saying is… we're literally going to go out and follow our dreams."

_"Haha, when you put it like that—"_

Suddenly, his sister called out from the kitchen. "Charles, are you done yet? I need to call someone, you've been hogging the phone for ages!"

"One second! Alice, I just had a fantastic idea."

_"Really?"_

"Yeah. If that old mill really is around here, and if we can somehow find out where it is, then I've got an excuse to get us there."

Alice snorted. _"Don't tell me: you're filming a movie."_

"Yeah, and it's awesome," Charles said defensively. "We do need to film a scene in the forest at some point, so if – IF – we can track down this building, then I don't see why we can't have a look for… whatever it is, at the same time."

_"Thanks, Charles. That sounds good. We're gonna look pretty stupid if there's nothing buried there, though."_

He shrugged. "Who cares? We've come this far. Stupid or not, it'll be totally insane if we do actually find something."

* * *

><p>"Charles, I didn't know I was coming to your house to help you do chores," Preston grumbled.<p>

"I didn't know there were gonna _be_ chores. But mom says it's my turn to clean the yard, and she's going to ground me if I don't do it, and if she grounds me then we can't go film the movie, and if we can't film then we can't look for our stupid dream house, and if we can't do that then the world might end—"

"Okay! I get it! I'll help you clean your stupid garden." Preston glanced at Joe with a fantastically sulky expression.

Joe shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Charles' house sat on the corner of Crystal Lane and Fernwood Avenue, with the backyard sloping gently down towards the road. (Fernwood Avenue ran along the eastern side with Joe's house a couple doors down.) The yard was mostly grass, dotted with patches of sawdust for the flowers, and finely-trimmed trees and bushes skirted the rear of the house. His dad had recently clipped the hedge along the back fence and apparently it was Charles' job to collect the fallen branches. One by one they gathered armfuls of leaves and twigs, carrying them to a trailer in the corner.

Charles grunted as a branch tried to poke him in the nostrils. "Okay, so here's the deal: tomorrow afternoon – Sunday – we can do some more filming as cover. I'll have more of the script ready by then. The only thing we have to worry about is finding the right place."

"Easier said than done," Preston sighed. "There's not a lot to go on."

"Yeah, I know it's a rush, but it's hard to do anything during the week when school's in. We have to try to finish things on the weekends."  
>"And <em>I<em> thought weekends were supposed to be relaxing. Joe, watch out. There's a wasp on your shoulder."

"What? AAH!" Joe dropped the branch he was carrying and hastily brushed the insect away. It buzzed by his head and he dodged sideways before it spiralled over the fence. "Thanks. Have we got any clues on how to find… whatever it is we're looking for?"

"No. Nothing," Preston replied. "I was planning to check the library though."

"Maybe it'd be on a map? Like, for walking trails?" Charles suggested.

"It's a possibility. Again, the problem is that 'old watermill' is awfully unspecific. There _might_ be a list of historical buildings we can check, but who knows if it's significant enough to be on there. And it's a pretty big leap of faith to assume it's near Lillian in the first place."

Joe dumped an armful of branches on the pile, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Not necessarily. In the dream, I know I recognised the forest – it was definitely from around here. I don't know how, or why, but that's how it felt."

"Ugh. Feelings." Preston rolled his eyes. "_That's_ what I hate about this. I mean, dreams are a very inefficient method of communication! It relies on interpretation, for one thing, and if _I_ was an advanced alien species I certainly wouldn't use dreams to send important messages. Why can't we get a – a letter about it, or a phone call! That'd be much better."

"That's stupid. Aliens wouldn't write letters to us," Charles retorted.

"I don't see why not."

"It's not like it's sitting behind you in math class. It can't exactly pass you a note." He bent down to pick up some more leaves.

"Charles," Joe whispered.

"What?"

"Butt-crack alert."

"Oh. Thanks." He reached behind him and pulled up his jeans. "Actually, I just remembered – Preston, why was Cindy Sanders passing you those notes on Friday afternoon?"

"She needed help with a homework question."

"There were a lot of notes."

"She had a lot of questions," Preston said calmly. "Ask Martin about it if you want, he was sitting next to her."

Involuntarily, Charles' face twitched. He opened his mouth to say something, then fell silent.

"…What's with you?"

Joe and Charles exchanged a glance. Joe stared at the grass for a moment, thinking quickly. _We should tell him. That's why we invited him over. Preston can help, he'll know how to react. _"Okay," he began. "We have a secret, but you can't tell _anyone_. You swear?"

Preston shrugged. "OK."

"No, really," Charles said. "You can't."

"I said 'okay.'"

"Alright." Joe looked around to make sure there weren't any Kaznyk siblings within earshot. He continued, a little quieter. "This morning, we went into town to get the film developed from last night, and we saw Martin's dad at the dentist's."

"So? He's the dentist. That's where he works."

"_So_, he was with another woman. The same one we met at Martin's house last Tuesday. She said she was an old friend from high school."

"Yeah, I remember."

"But it looked… _weird_. He was hugging her."

"Well, there's a lot of different kinds of hugging," Preston said, frowning. "I mean – was he patting her on the back while he did it, like guys do?"

"I don't know. It was a hug."

"Show me. Do it to me."

Now it was Joe's turn to be surprised. "I'm not gonna _hug_ you!"

"Why?" Preston folded his arms. "I'm quite secure in my manliness—"

Charles coughed.

"—and it's okay to hug your friends, Joe. Come on."

"Ugh. Fine." Joe looked up, then down, then resigned himself to his fate. He stepped forwards and quickly wrapped his arms around Preston's torso, head half-resting on his shoulder, kinda touching, doing his best awkward imitation of what they'd seen inside the clinic. One second passed, then two, then three.

"Alright, get off me. I get it, I get it."

"Okay!" Joe raised his hands. "See? Charles, back me up here."

"It looked pretty serious," Charles agreed worriedly. "More than a 'friend' hug."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yeah."

Preston took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Darn. I _knew_ there was something strange about her… Have you told Martin?"

"No, and we're not going to," Joe said.

Charles shook his head. "No, we have to tell him."

"But he'll freak!"

"I know, but there aren't any secrets between us – that's our code, remember?"

"Easy for you to say. You don't have any secrets."

Charles stared at him. "Remember that time in science class when I tried to sneak out a fart but it came out a – a poop? And then I had to flush my undies down the toilet? Do you think I _wanted_ to tell you guys that? It was the worst day of my life!"

"Charles, it's not the same thing," Joe insisted.

"It _is_. It's exactly the same thing."

"We're NOT telling him."

"Guys, whether we decide to tell him, or not, maybe we should get more evidence first," Preston interrupted. "Or talk to someone else."

"Who?" Charles asked.

"What about Alice? Her mom left a few years ago, right? Was it because of… something similar?..."

"No, I don't think so," Joe said quietly. "We haven't really talked about it, but her mom left for another reason. Her dad – Mr. Dainard – was drinking a lot, I think."

"Ah."

Right at that moment, as they stood around the yard, life seemed awfully complicated. It wasn't just what'd happened to Alice, or Joe, or even what was currently happening to Martin; the world simply felt like a tangled, uncomfortable mess, as if they were trapped in an invisible maze. Dreams, school, movies, the military… it was hard to tell which direction was the right one. _The only thing we can do is keep going forwards, follow everyone else and hope that we figure it out. _

_But what if Dr. Haverford _is_ having an affair? What happens then? Nothing good, right? He always sounded like such a nice person – funny, talkative, confident – basically Martin's polar opposite. The last time I went to the dentist he actually made it fun. And Martin likes him. Martin thinks he's cool. It'll be really, really bad if this turns out to be true._

…_as if we needed another thing to worry about._

"Come on," Charles said. "There's only a few branches left."

Silently, they trudged across the yard, lost in their own thoughts and the soft rustle of greenery.

* * *

><p>Rachel aimed down the sights of her pistol at the target at the far end of the lane. The small black weapon was cold as she held it out in front of her, hands clasped, arms straight, feet slightly apart in the way she'd been taught. It wasn't difficult to imagine how deadly it was. Her hair was tied back beneath a pair of ear protectors; it was cool inside the range so she wore jeans and a pale pink jumper.<p>

_Exhale. Focus. _The hanging target was thirty feet away. She lined up the shot, pulled the trigger.

_Bang bang bang! Bang!_  
>The muffled recoil kicked up her arms: one miss, three hits clustered round the paper target's chest. Rachel felt a puff of satisfaction<em>. <em>She flicked the pistol's safety and took off her earmuffs, putting the weapon on the shelf next to her.

"Good shot," her dad murmured appreciatively.

"Really? Thanks."

"You hit the target three times out of four – that's 75% accuracy. In most cases you'll only need to hit it once."

Ryotaro Yukimura (known to most of his American friends as 'Ryan') made a slender but well-built figure, one of those people who appeared taller than reality. He was in his early forties but didn't really look it thanks to a youthful Japanese complexion, and had a head of feathery dark hair and gray-ish eyes. His jawline was nearly sharp enough to cut diamond, currently covered in a fine layer of stubble, and he wore casual black pants and a grey button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up half way.

He was certainly the best-dressed person at the shooting range, with the other half-dozen visitors wearing various combinations of shirts, shorts and jeans. The range was indoors and had been converted from an old warehouse – high ceilings, bright lighting, newly-reinforced concrete walls – and was split into eight individual rows, each containing a rail for the hanging targets and various spots for weapons and ammunition.

"Remember how to reload?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, I think so." Rachel took the gun and aimed it downward. She pressed the magazine release and the empty clip fell into waiting fingers. _Get a new clip, turn it the right way… _it wasn't too difficult to remember the steps once you'd done it a few times. In the row next to them a quick sequence of shots rang out – a burst of five or six.

"When did you get back last night?"

She thought for a moment. "...Just after eleven. You were already asleep."  
>"Yes, probably. Long day yesterday." Her dad chuckled. "You going to tell me about your new friends?"<p>

"If you want. What would you like to know?"

"Who they are, for a start! Don't get me wrong, I think it's great, already getting invited to places in your first week – that doesn't happen often. I'm proud of you."

"It's nothing to do with me, it's them. They're… nice." She finished reloading and aimed down the range before laying the pistol back on the shelf. "You ready?"

"Hit me."

"Okay: there's Charles, Joe, Alice, Preston, Martin and Cary."

"Charles, Joe, Alice, Preston, Martin, Cary," her dad recited. He gave her a sideways glance. "Lots of boys."

"...So?"  
>"Only making an observation. And you went out to make a movie?"<p>

"Yeah. They write the scripts, act them out, do the editing, then enter them in competitions. It was fun; weird, but fun. I think they've been hanging out for a while, they're pretty close to each other."

"How did you meet them?"

"Luck. I started sitting with them during lunch."

"M-hm. Wait. Charles, Joe, Alice—" He muttered something under his breath. "Where have I heard those names before? Joseph… Lamb? Is that his family name?"

"I think so. Why?"

"I swear I've seen that set of names somewhere. In one of the reports, perhaps…" Her dad trailed off suddenly. He tended to do that a lot when he had something on his mind.

_Huh. That group seemed super normal. Not the kind of people who'd show up in CIA reports. Maybe they were interviewed for something, or their parents were. The army probably interviewed lots of people. And, speaking of:_

"How's the work so far?" she asked.

"It's definitely interesting," Ryan said. "They trust me, which is good. I've been shown around a lot already. On my previous assignments, it sometimes took some time to get that trust."

"Even as part of the CIA?"

"_Especially_ as part of the CIA. They take one look at my suit and clam right up. I'm still not sure what I'm exactly supposed to be _doing _here, other than being an outside perspective on what happened; unfortunately, a few mistakes were made and I've heard a lot went wrong, so I suspect it'll involve a great deal of paperwork."

"Sounds fun."

"Very. That's the negative side being a spy: it's mostly paperwork."

Rachel grinned; she'd heard that complaint before. "But something did happen?"

"Oh, yes. I'm going to have my hands full. There was—" He stopped. "I'd better not say anything. Your mother would kill me if I start telling you about work again. Classified information, you know."

"I know."

"I can't say anything _yet_, anyway. Not before I know the whole story. It's definitely related to what we've seen before, although it's so much more _recent_, and that's what makes it fascinating."  
>"That's good, I suppose."<p>

Ryan smiled faintly. "I realise I'm being vague. The important thing is that the incident only happened a few months ago, and that means some issues remain which haven't been completely cleared. _That_ means I want you to be careful. And prepared."

He said it often enough to be an unofficial motto: dad wanted her to be prepared, always. That was why they did the shooting practice, and the camping trips, and the extra out-of-school lessons. _Be prepared. _It was good advice.

With a jerk, Ryan picked up his own pistol and swiftly brought it to bear. He barely appeared to aim before squeezing the trigger. _Bang bang! Bang! _Two shots to the chest, one to the head – a neat, deadly triangle. _Bang, bang!_ Two more bullets in each thigh of the paper target. Often, it was better to simply disable your enemy. _Reload._ The air smelled of cordite.

"Your friends…" he began.

"Yes?"

"I want you to keep an eye on them."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Watch them. Listen. Use your judgement. Young people can have interesting perspectives on things, interesting knowledge. And if they start getting involved in anything different, anything strange… tell me. Please."

Rachel frowned imperceptibly. "You want me to do your job for you," she said evenly.

"That's not—"

"You want me to spy on them."

"No! It's not spying."

"Then what is it?"

Ryan exhaled, turning towards her, and his eyes were laced with pain. "Listen. When I took you and your brother away from Japan, it was because I wanted to keep you safe. That's all your mother and I have ever wanted. That's all we _will_ want. But we can't do everything, so part of that deal is that you have to tell me things. If you see something, you have to tell me. That's it. I'm part of the government now. I can help."

Rachel looked down. _It's not spying_, she could imagine him saying. _It's being prepared. _

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was for the best.

Small betrayals, for the greater good.

"Do you miss him?" her dad asked suddenly.

"Yes. Of course I do."She said it with no emotion, but already she could feel the slight sting of tears forming in her eyes – just a hint. _What kind of question is that?_ Rachel wiped them away frustratedly, pretending to fix her hair in the process. She aimed down the range at another pair of distant targets. When they were this far from her, it was easier to imagine the figures as real people. Not that she'd ever actually shoot someone, obviously, but something about those white silhouettes came to life before her eyes.

Maybe one of them was her brother. She remembered his kind, rounded face, his permanent goofy smile, his mop of thick, wavy hair. _It's all so far away now. _She remembered being with him, and remembered being responsible for something – floating, red, the rising high-pitched whine – so far away it seemed like a dream. Maybe one of them was simply another innocent victim.

"What's wrong?" her father asked.

"Nothing." She shook her head. _Exhale. Focus. _Ready, aim—

_Bang!_

* * *

><p>The cemetery was empty at this time of night. Of course, it was usually empty during the day, too – <em>luckily there isn't much need for it in a small town like ours<em>. The familiar rolling hillside met with the trees all around, bisected by gravel paths. The grass was neatly trimmed between the hundreds of headstones, some old and weathered, their inscriptions faded, while others were smooth and new, the granite reflecting his flashlight. On top of the hills on the far side the water tower rose against the stars, with a couple of houses peeking amidst the trees.

Jack Lamb walked among the tombstones, his slow, casual stride betraying no hint of nervousness. He wasn't doing anything special; merely out for an evening stroll. _I've got more reasons to be here than most. _He swept his flashlight over the grass, and it sparkled off the dewdrops...

_"I would like you to check something for me, please," the journalist said. She spoke good English, suppressing her accent well._

_ "Check what?" Jack replied._

_ "I have in front of me a record of military movements around your town. After June 6__th__, they appeared to be concentrated around two areas: Aspen Avenue, Pruitt Road and Hillside Road."_

_ "That makes sense. Aspen Avenue is the main street, that's where most of the damage occurred. Pruitt Road's where the school is, which is where they operated for a short while. Hillside Road, though… that runs past the cemetery."_

_ "The cemetery. Can you think of a reason why the military would be there?"_

_ Jack racked his brains. "No. Not really."_

...It would've been much more helpful if Rise had actually mentioned something to look for, but it sounded like she was as much in the dark as he was. _As usual, it's a goddamn mystery. Nothing's ever easy, is it. _Nevertheless, every time he'd driven down Hillside recently, he did recall seeing a few dark green tents and vehicles, which raised the question of _why_: why would the military still be hanging around a graveyard, months after they'd moved on from everywhere else? _Why would a random woman from Japan be asking _me_ about it?_

He kept walking, boots rustling on the grass. The graves stretched forth in long parallel rows. He didn't know how many there were – hundreds, definitely. Thousands? The sky above was clear, stars twinkling brightly, and the overnight glow of steel mill was a hint of orange on the eastern horizon.

Suddenly, he noticed a light in the distance. It looked like torches; a cluster of 'em, moving and bobbing by the groundskeeper's shed where most of the tents were arranged. There was a spotlight there as well throwing white across the hillside...

_"Can you find out for me?" Rise asked._

_ "Uhhh… I guess so. I mean, I can't do much, but I can go and poke around a little."_

_ "Thank you very much. That is more than enough."_

_ "I certainly hope so. From my experience, the army doesn't take too kindly to having law enforcement interfering in their affairs."_

_ "It's the same in my country. Please, do not do anything rash – be as safe as you need to."_

_Jack chuckled mirthlessly, gathering his thoughts. This conversation was giving his policeman's intuition a real workout. "Ma'am, you still haven't told me _why_ you're asking me this. Why do you care about what happens in Lillian?"_

_"It's because I'm a journalist," Rise replied firmly. "I care about stories. And the story of Lillian may turn out to be the most important story in the world."_

...Slowly, Jack came to a stop; one he had to make. Before him, about half-way down the row, stood a simple, dark headstone. It was engraved with _'Elizabeth Lamb'._

_May 26, 1942 to February 3, 1979. Still seems hard to believe._

It was odd, but coming here wasn't so bad anymore. It was almost an academic exercise. Stepping into his bedroom every night and going to sleep in an empty bed – now _that_ was far more confronting. The house held memories, constant reminders. This… this was simply a resting place. There were still some wilting flowers on the ground from when he'd last come with Joe. He bent down, arranging them a little more neatly. _Beloved Wife and Mother._

He looked up again.

The lights were still there. He could even see people. There were a couple of guards standing by the entrance to the shed, and at least another three walking back and forth between the tents. A temporary fence had been erected around the area, but from this distance it was hard to make out any interesting details. _A few crates, some jeeps, a generator for the lights…_

Jack switched off his flashlight and started making his way towards them.

_"So you really don't know what you're looking for?" Jack asked._

_ "Well… not exactly." Her voice was distant. "Do you think the soil around the cemetery would be easy to dig?"_

_ "That's a strange question."_

_ "Yes."_

_ "…I guess it would be. Most of the ground around the town is quite soft. Why?"_

_ "We had a similar incident in Japan, very recently. Similar to what happened to you. One of the only pieces of information I have managed to find is that several large tunnels were discovered in the nearby area."_

_ "What do you mean, 'tunnels'."_

_ "Like a – what is the word? Like what a rabbit makes. Lots of tunnels, underground, all connected. Much bigger than a rabbit, though. Much bigger. Maybe some of these tunnels are around your cemetery. This is something I'd like to know."_

_ "How much bigger are we talking here?—"_

_ "I'm sorry, Mr. Lamb, I have to go now. Thank you very much for your help. I will call you on Monday. Good luck..."_

Jack shook his head. It was an odd place to end a phone call, that was for sure. The bigger question, maybe, was why he was currently traipsing through a graveyard at nine-pee-em on the word of some Japanese reporter. _I always was too damn helpful._

But no one appeared to have noticed him so far. The army had indeed set up a fine little complex at the edge of the grass, complete with barriers and canvas pavilions and conspicuously armed guards. The groundskeeper's shed was the centre of the proceedings, and its main doors had been removed and replaced with some kind of zip-up plastic sheeting. One of the trucks parked on the road behind it was still running, engine coughing in the night.

It wasn't a particularly _big_ operation, but it wasn't unnoticeable either. _Interesting that it's still so active, given how long it's been since... _Jack walked closer. Surely the army wouldn't be too aggressive; someone would have plenty of legitimate reasons to be curious.

When he reached the fence, however, _that_ was apparently too close. One of the guards detached himself from a tent and quickly ran over to intercept him.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

He stopped. _No use gettin' shot, is there._

The guard stood on the other side of the fence, his cautious eyes taking in every detail of his appearance. "What are you doing here?" he barked.

Jack pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Visiting someone."

"That's fine, but please step away from the fence. This is a restricted area under the jurisdiction of the U.S. military."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Am I allowed to ask what you're doing here?"

"No."

The guard stood firm. Behind him, the doors to the maintenance shed swung open; there was a distinct hiss of escaping air as a figure in a white lab-coat emerged. The figure blinked in the glare of the spotlights, shielding their eyes, before walking to one of the smaller tents. As the doors swung shut again Jack went up on his tip-toes, peering through the gap. There _were_ stairs inside the shed. He could barely make out some railings, and perhaps a hint of a deep, round shadow that could a hole in the earth—

"Sir, if I could ask you to move away?"

"Of course." He stepped back, giving the guard a slight nod. "Have a good night."

Jack walked off along the side of the cemetery. He could feel the man's eyes boring into his back, making sure he didn't try anything funny. A couple of minutes later he was out of sight, leaving the strange lights and the soldiers behind.

_Well_, he thought. _That's interesting._

* * *

><p>"Found anything yet?" Preston asked.<p>

"No." Alice scowled. "This map isn't very helpful though."

The unhelpful map, when unhelpfully unfolded, covered nearly half the table. It was a very detailed representation of Lillian and the surrounding area: _'Council Survey of Lillian Township, April 1975'. _The town was a mess of squiggles at the very centre, each street painstakingly labelled, but the full extent of the chart covered a region twenty kilometres in either direction. Most of it was shaded green to represent the surrounding fields and forests; smaller roads and trails wound between the hills, each change in elevation represented by a faint contour line.

"There's a lot of information there," Preston observed.

"There's information, sure, but I have no idea what I'm looking for." She pointed to a tiny grey square in the northeast corner. "Look. It says that this is an old hunting cabin, some heritage-listed thing – so historical sites _are_ on here, but they're tiny and there's dozens of them and it takes a while to figure out what they are."

"Is this the only map you can use? I thought some of the others might—"

"Yes, Preston, this is the only one. The other maps are way too small."

"Oh. Okay." He glanced down at the book he'd found. It was a history of the local forestry industry, written by some boring dead guy (woodcutting had been Lillian's main contribution to society before the steel mill came in). Unfortunately, it wasn't very useful either.

Alice glanced at him, rubbing her eyes. "We _really_ have to find this place. Is anyone else coming to help?"

"No, everyone says they're busy."

"Boys. Typical."

"Aaaaand I don't think more people would fix anything. The library's fairly small, so there aren't that many relevant books here. Martin said he'd ask his dad about it, since apparently he's on some kind of town preservation committee."

"Good, he'd better – because we've got about six hours until the weekend's over."

"We should be optimistic, I'm sure we'll find it," he said confidently. "I'm going to have another look."

"Okay," Alice sighed. "I'll be here."

Preston got up from the table while Alice kept poring over the map. He made his way towards the bookshelves, his footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet.

The Lillian Library had a relatively small collection (as you'd expect for a town of its size). The building was quite old, single-story, but with high ceilings to fit the three-metre shelves. He walked through the young adult section, then regretfully past sci-fi and fantasy, towards the non-fiction area which occupied the shelves at the rear. Faded educational posters hung from the walls, covered in a fine layer of dust. It was decently busy on a Sunday morning and the air hummed with the sounds of people trying to be extremely quiet. _I spent WAY too much time here as a kid; the librarian always used to be annoyed at me when she had to order in obscure books._

Conveniently, the library had a shelf devoted to local information and history. A lot of it was folders of old council documents – building plans, meeting minutes, photographs – as well as maps, journals and similar information. _You know, boring stuff. Stuff that nobody would ever need in a million years. _Preston tilted his head sideways and ran his finger along the spines, waiting for a title to catch his eye. _Oooh, that one might be good. And… no. Maybe? Might as well try it. _He took two books from the shelf and knelt down, laying them on the carpet in front of him.

The first was a summary of the town's founding and early history. A quick scan of the contents hinted that it wouldn't be particularly relevant; flicking through a couple of chapters confirmed it. _Nicely written. Very useless._

The second, though, was much more interesting: it was a short guide to the local forests, including list of walking trails and campsites. It also contained a chapter on 'Historic Sites'. _Bingo._ The pages were old and very thin – printed in the 40's, apparently – but soon enough he found the right section. _It's only thirty years ago, the information won't have changed much. Watermills, watermills, mills, mills… Preston Mills, looking for mills. Someone should write a joke about that. _Each site was listed with a detailed location and description, as well as some background info. _Ugh, bridges. I don't care about bridges. Or churches – who knew there was like, a dozen churches around here._

As he walked back to Alice, nose buried in the booklet, he suddenly discovered what he was looking for. The problem was, there wasn't one old, ruined watermill in the woods near Lillian.

There were two.

He slapped the booklet on the table next to Alice. "I have something."

"Holy—" She jumped. "Don't _do_ that."

"I don't see how that possiblycould've scared you."

"Well, it's not like I'm expecting loud noises in a library. What did you find?"

"Lots." Preston turned to the relevant pages. "Basically, it turns out that there are two old watermills in the Lillian area. Both are from the 1800's, and both were used as sawmills. This book gives locations for each of them, and we should be able to match up the trails and rivers they describe to the features on your map."

"…There's _two_?"

"Yes, as I said."

"Then how do we know which is the right one?"

"I… still have to work that out."

Alice gave him a vacant sort of look, then put her head in her hands. "_Urrrgggh_," she groaned. "Why does this have to be so _hard?_"

"Um – I'm not sure what you were hoping for, but I figured that trying to locate a building from a dream would be pretty darn complicated. I'm happy we got this far."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "You're right. So, is there anything else we can recall from the dream which'll help us identify the location?"

Preston tried to remember; it was difficult. The booklet didn't have pictures, obviously, and the descriptions were nowhere near good enough to match to what they'd seen. _Gosh, if only I had extensively detailed knowledge of 19__th__-century construction techniques. Come on. Think. If you can't isolate it using the building, then can you isolate it using… the landscape?_

_ Were there any identifiable features of the landscape? It was downhill, I suppose, but that isn't helpful. The trees were ordinary. The path wasn't unusual. And the river was— aha! That's it!_

"We can use the river," Preston realised. "The river next to the mill was dry."

There was a couple seconds silence while Alice's brain worked out what this meant. Then: "Ohhhhh."

"See? The river was dry, but when it was originally built, the river must've been flowing to power the mill. Hmm, maybe that's why they abandoned it… Anyway, the river probably dried up relatively recently, so it'll probably be marked as a dry riverbed on your map, which is from 1975. So all we have to do is find both the watermills on there and then see which one isn't located next to a river anymore."

"Yeah. I'm on it." Alice traced her finger over the paper, staring at it intently. Preston wondered how she'd react if he clapped right next to her ear._ Joe probably won't like me anymore if I give his girlfriend a heart attack._

"Here's one mill," she murmured. "...And here's the other. They match the trails in the book. One's next to the Lillian River."

"And?"

"The other's not next to anything, it's at the bottom of a dry valley. That must be it!" She smiled triumphantly. Preston peered at the mark Alice had circled. It was a tiny grey box about ten miles north-west of town, nestled between a few steep hills. It appeared quite isolated, but there was a road that led to a campsite nearby, and from there was a trail which hopefully wouldn't be too challenging or overgrown…

"Alright! I guess we're filming tonight," Alice said.

"Yeah." _Or at least you will be_. "I, umm…"

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm surprised we found it, we're basically proper detectives now."

"Yep. They should call us to solve crimes, haha."

When Alice's face lit up like that, he could see why Joe liked her. "You wanna call the others?"

"Definitely, I'll do it as soon as I get home. If Charles doesn't give us a really big 'thank you' I'm gonna _murder_ him!"

"Oooh, I'll help!"

* * *

><p>They ran through the woods down a winding, overgrown path, Alice gripping Martin's hand tightly, urging him along behind her. Following them was a small train of equipment – Charles holding the camera, Joe holding the microphone, Cary holding loops of cables and trying to make sure no one tripped over them. The late afternoon forest was gloomy and slightly, the trees standing tall, the canopy intertwined overhead with a slight haze of mist that obscured the middle distance. Ferns and twigs rustled beneath their feet. Cary swore as a cable caught on a branch, yanking it free and running to keep up.<p>

Alice looked down at her watch desperately, then back up at the path. "Six fifty-nine..." She shook her head and started dragging him even faster.

"Where are we going?" Martin asked, a panicked edge in his voice.

"I don't know," she muttered. "I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere."

"Why did we leave the car? Where are you—"

"At 7PM every day, it happens. No matter what I do, it always happens."

"_What_ happens?"

"You—..." Alice paused. "It doesn't matter. You won't believe me. She's always at the same place, and she always does the same thing, but maybe – maybe she won't find us out here."

_"Who_?!"

"Just trust me."

Charles kept the camera trained on them, moving as smoothly as he could (it was difficult to see where you were going when you were focusing through a tiny viewfinder). He raised his fist and gave the signal.

Suddenly, Alice stopped. "Here." She pushed Martin ahead of her into a damp, mossy clearing. It was a small dip in the hillside surrounded by chest-high boulders. They crouched down. Martin quickly cleaned his glasses with his sleeve, then put them back on his nose. Alice glanced at her watch again.

"Why are we stopping?" he asked.

"Shhh. Listen."

The camera crew crabwalked to the side so they could peek through the rocks. Joe slipped the mike into the gap, holding it next to Martin's chest. They'd already done this scene once from the other angle and his arms were getting kinda tired.

_It's a good scene though. Like, surprisingly good. The Case was basically a practice run compared to this. Last time, Charles was figuring things out as he went along, but now he actually knows what works best and how to do it. Martin and Alice are great too – it's like the camera isn't even there. _

The silence was suddenly shattered by the _crack_ of a snapped twig. Reflexively, Alice ducked. "Get down," she whispered.

Martin's confusion rose to an all-time high. Nevertheless, he followed her lead, pressing low against the dirt. Alice's eyes darted around the forest. Another _crack. _Time to move the camera again. This time, Charles shuffled forwards a little, pointing it at a section of empty forest. And, right on cue, a shadowy figure emerged from the mists between the trees: Rachel.

She had the same haggard face, the same compact black clothes as the scene at the lake. This time, though, she was being more cautious. She crept forwards, making as little sound as possible (but it was hard to avoid a slight rustle of undergrowth). Her gaze was focused like a laser on the worn circle of rocks. Clearly, she knew where they were hiding. The capgun was pointed at the ground. For now.

She inched closer. Alice waited, taking cover behind the boulders, listening to the approaching footsteps. The sounds grew more and more distinct. And then, when it seemed her enemy was _right there—_

Alice leapt out from her hiding spot and punched Rachel in the face. Or rather, she _pretended_ to punch Rachel in the face – but because the ground was slippery, and it was hard to react so quickly, her first ended up bouncing off Rachel's chin with a dull kind of _clonk!_

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" Alice squeaked.

Rachel fell back, skidding into the leaves. "Ouch," she croaked.

"Cut!" Charles shouted, somewhat unnecessarily. "Woah, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." She rubbed her chin, clacked her jaw a few times. "It was a surprise more than anything else."

"I am _so_ sorry," Alice said, "it was so fast, I thought you weren't that close. And we practiced it heaps of times too."

"Don't worry about it."

"You _sure_ you're OK?"

"Yes. Sure." She got to her feet with a weary smile, wiping the dirt from her clothes. "Would you like to do that scene again?"

"If you're up for it," Charles said.

"I'm fine. Really."

"Okay. Well, we can start from where you come in—"

"Wait! Just gotta fix something." Joe dropped the microphone and darted forwards, makeup box in hand. He opened it and took out some of the light grey powder. Alice's fingers had left a slight mark on Rachel's cheek, and while it wasn't extremely visible, it was worth getting these things right. Rachel waited patiently as he re-applied the makeup.

"You'll have to take my word for it, but Alice usually doesn't go around punching people," he said quietly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Tell her not to beat herself up about it."

"You took that hit pretty well though."

"The trick is to sort of... roll with it. It helps to move with the impact."

"Uh-huh. All done." He packed up the box and jogged back behind the camera. Rachel made her way into the trees, taking a few extra paces so that she was moderately hidden.

Charles stepped back. "Alright, everyone in position! Three, two, one, action!"

Once again, Rachel crept forward, this time taking care to make a few conspicuous noises so the others would know approximately where she was. She edged towards the rocks, gun held firmly in her hands.

This time, when Alice leapt out it went perfectly to plan. Her fist _whooshed_ past Rachel's cheek and she threw herself backwards in response; the camera angle would conceal that it wasn't a true hit. The gun skidded away across the leaves. Alice followed her down, pushing her onto the ground, holding her arms in place. She struggled weakly. Alice glared at her, breathing hard. Martin stood up behind the rocks and stared at them for a long moment, his mouth open in utter bewilderment.

"Darling, what the heck is happening? Who is that woman?" (Inwardly, Rachel winced. _We'll have to fix that line._)

She didn't turn round. "_Why_," Alice hissed. "Why are you doing this? Why does he always have to die?"

Rachel stayed silent, jaw clenched.

"_Why_?! Tell me!"

Something in her voice – the desperation, the confusion, perhaps the echo of grief – made her answer. "Because it's his fault," she said simply.

"What is?"

"...Everything." Suddenly Rachel rolled sideways, and with the speed of a striking snake she grabbed the gun and—

_BANG! _Martin fell backwards into the rocks, clawing his chest.

"Cut!" Charles made an 'X' with his hands. "Thanks guys, that was great!"

There was a pause. Cary frowned, a strange look on his face. "But was it 'mint', Charles?"

"Um... yeah, I guess so.

"No, Charles. You have to say it."

"What?"

"Just _say_ it!"

"Uh – okay? It was mint?"

"THERE it is. Alright everyone, now we can go home. Man, this movie's kinda dark."

Joe stifled a giggle with his hand as Charles looked around, puzzled. Alice chuckled. Rachel decided that it had to be a joke that she didn't understand yet and picked herself up off the ground.

"I agree," Martin added, "about the 'dark' thing, that is. Every scene seems to end with me dying."

"So?" Cary asked.

"So, don't you think that's weird?"

"Nope. I think it's pretty cool, actually. And remember, every scene in our last movie ended with _me_ dying."

"That's different. You were a zombie!"

"Well, how do you know you're not a zombie in this movie?"

Martin stopped, mouth half-open. "God, you are _so_ hard to argue with."

_That's it_, Rachel thought to herself. _It's the arguing. That's the key. Every ten minutes someone's cracking stupid a joke about someone else. What's that saying that people have? 'Real friends don't get offended when you insult them; they smile and call you something even worse.'_

"What do you guys feel like doing now?" Charles asked. "We could do one more scene, or... we could do the other thing." He glanced around at the others, and Rachel immediately noticed that he avoided her gaze. "And where's Preston? Did he say why he couldn't come?"

"He said he was busy," Martin replied. "Didn't say why. He just... left."

"That's weird. I hope there weren't any issues."

"Nah, he looked fine. Sometimes, Charles, people have other things to do."

It wasn't obvious, but the wrongness still prickled in the back of their minds – an empty space where a tall, curly-haired kid would usually be standing.

"What should we do?" Charles said again.

"Maybe we _should_ start looking for it," Alice said slowly. "We don't know how long it's going to take."

"Good idea," Joe agreed.

"It's not far from here, right?" Cary asked.

"Down the path, a couple hundred yards that way."

"And it's definitely the right place?"

"We're pretty sure," Alice said. "It's the only one we could find that fits."

"...Alright." Cary shrugged. "Let's do this. We can probably leave the movie stuff here, no one's gonna take it."

Rachel watched them curiously. _Come on, guys. Stop pretending. A five-year-old could figure out that something shifty's going on. _She couldn't help but hear her father's words, echoing in her ears: _Watch. Listen. Be prepared._

_ OR, maybe I could be a normal person and _trust_ who I'm hanging out with for once. They'll tell me what's going on when they're ready._

_ I hope._

* * *

><p>The path was narrow and mostly overgrown, barely more than a hint of soil visible through the undergrowth. They trooped along it single file, stepping over rocks and fallen branches, winding between the dark, arrow-straight trunks. The air was thick with a deep, earthy smell that made their noses itch. It didn't feel like summer – not down here, beneath the trees. The shafts of sunlight didn't carry any warmth and were soon swallowed by the greenery.<p>

"Kinda creepy, isn't it," Joe said quietly.

"Great. You had to go and say it, didn't you," Martin replied. "I was doing so _well. _Charles, when's your dad picking us up again?"

"About an hour."

"_Great_. Just long enough for an axe murderer to sneak up and cut us all into pieces."

"Shut up," Cary hissed. "Shut up shut up shut up."

For once, he didn't have a snappy retort. Rachel wished he did. The forest hemmed them in from all sides like a giant, living thing (...which it was). Twigs and branches snatched at their clothing. Insects scurried away from their footsteps. Up front, Charles was doing his best to clear a path through the ferns, and their springy leaves twisted and rustled in a strange, whispering chorus.

"You sure this is the right way, Alice?" Joe asked.

"Yes. Sort of."

"Um... only sort of?"

"If this is the right path, then it's the path we should be following."

"That makes _no _sense," Cary said.

"Listen – if we're still on the path, then we're going in the right direction. Give it a few more minutes. I've got the map in my pocket if you wanna check."

"I don't think that'll help," Rachel said, looking around them. The forest was the same in every direction: green, misty, the trunks and branches forming a dark and interlocking tapestry. They appeared to be walking downhill, though, which according to Alice was a good sign. Her shoes slipped and scraped on the carpet of dead leaves. "Um... Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate to ask, but can you tell me where we're going? If we are going to be murdered, I'd at least like to know where."

Cary glared at her.

"Of course. We're trying to find an old watermill that's around here," Charles replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Apparently it's at the end of this path."

"And you're doing this because..."

"Well. It's complicated."

A pause.

"It's... a treasure hunt, sort of."

Rachel waited for him to elaborate. (It was a good technique for getting information – keep quiet, and people will try to fill the silence.)

"It's a town competition. There's different groups entering it, and... you have to be the first to find certain things. We figured out that one piece is buried here."

"Oh. Cool." _Hmm. Stranger things have happened. Still doesn't explain why they're being so cagey about it. _

_Well, if that's what they want to tell me..._

"There had better be something at this stupid ruin," Martin said, "otherwise this is going to be a _huge_ waste of time."

"I honestly think it's about fifty-fifty," Joe said. "Don't ask me why."

"Why?" Cary asked.

"I reckon we have to start trusting this stuff." He shrugged. "Or we at least have to give it a chance. I mean, there might be nothing there – there's probably nothing there – but if there _is_, then—"

They stopped.

There, in the forest ahead of them, was the house.

* * *

><p>The watermill squatted in the middle of the clearing: a dark, gloomy ruin. It brought to mind a skeleton, half-buried by the surrounding vegetation like the weathered bones of a long-dead animal. The stone walls were crumbling in the corners, encrusted in moss and ivy. The window-frames were empty, the shutters long rotted away. The roof, though, was mostly intact – tiles sagging a little, beams exposed, still waging war with gravity.<p>

It was unnerving, how much it looked like the dream... identical, as if it'd been plucked from their imaginations and dropped straight into this corner of the forest. To the right of the building, the decaying remains of a waterwheel jutted from their supports, suspended above a small gully that was the dried-up river. It felt like the dream, too, in the way that the door seemed to beckon them towards it, even though that shadowed, deserted portal was the last place any sane person would want to go...

"Well, here we are!" Alice said with forced brightness.

"Yeah. Great," Charles replied. "Let's get this over with. Anyone got a flashlight?"

"Nope."

"No."

"Forgot to bring one."

Charles stared at them, then back at the mill. "You're kidding me."

"It's not _that_ dark," Martin said. "Light'll come in through the gaps in the roof."

"Looks pretty freaking dark to me," Cary murmured.

"It'll be fine. We'd better hurry, though." Joe stepped forwards, walking towards the entrance, struck with an inexplicable sense of deja vu. The ground was thick with scattered branches and he had to watch where he put his feet. Slowly, the others followed. The mill wasn't very big – maybe ten metres to a side – but it still had an imposing presence. He paused when he reached the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Charles suddenly squeezed past him. "I'll go first," he said firmly.

Joe couldn't help noticing that he looked a little nervous. _We all do. _That was what Charles did, though – he gritted his teeth and pushed right through before second thoughts became an option.

In single file they ducked through the entrance, into the darkened ruin. Their voices stayed around a low murmur. It felt better that way.

"_Woah_."

"Look at this place..."

"I wonder how long it's been since anyone was in here?"

Joe turned around, taking in the view; it was surprisingly easy to see inside. As Martin had guessed, a fair amount of sunlight crept in where tiles had sagged, creating gaps or where the slate was missing altogether. They appeared to be standing in the largest room, square, mostly empty, with others hidden behind more dark doorways. The air was cold. Most of the furniture and equipment seemed to have been taken away, probably when the owners abandoned it; all that remained were a few crates and toppled shelves. Thickets of spiderwebs nestled in the corners. A rusted hammer lay in the muck by Joe's foot. Dirt was everywhere. The floor might've been wood once, or stone, but it was hard to tell under the layers of mould and grime.

Cary pointed at the ceiling. "What's that?"

His finger was directed at the largest hole in the roof. It was circular, appearing more recent than the others. The tiles were cracked and burned around the opening, and curiously, the exposed beam beneath it had been sheared cleanly in two.

"It's as if something fell and... cut right through it," Alice said.

_Something fell..._ Immediately, Joe looked down, following the approximate angle of the gap to where it met the ground. There, in the corner of the room, was a slight dip in the dirt – a crater. Shallow, but definitely there.

And, in the middle of the crater, was a perfect hole about five inches wide.

They gathered round it, staring at it inquisitively. Charles knelt down on his hands and knees and put his face close to the hole, attempting to peer inside. He leaned closer. Cary kept glancing over his shoulder, as if to make sure no ghosts were creeping up on them (or worse).

"Charles, be careful," Alice muttered.

"It's alright. I can't see much, but it's deep. Really deep. Wait, I think..." He sat up with a grunt. "I think there's another room down there."

"Like a basement?" Martin asked.

"Yeah. Maybe. It's hard to distinguish it, but there's some kind of open space."

Joe's mouth twisted into a grim kind of smile. _This just gets better and better, doesn't it. _He spared a quick glance at Rachel, who was taking it pretty well – standing back quietly, with slightly furrowed brows. _I doubt she bought Charles' story, but maybe she's as curious as we are. _"It makes sense," he said out loud. "The thing is supposed to be buried... whatever it is."

"Yeah." Charles rummaged around some more, sweeping leaves away with his hands. "And I can definitely feel something— aha!" He extracted a thick metal ring from the muck and rattled it on its hinges. "Trapdoor!" he said triumphantly.

"Trapdoor..." Martin echoed, less triumphantly. Together they helped uncover the wood, using their feet to kick off the dirt and branches. The trapdoor was thick and heavily built (it had to be, to have survived this long) and was set flush with the floor. Soon enough, the edges were exposed and Charles grasped the ring with both hands.

"Come on guys, help me." Martin crouched down on his left, and Joe on his right, and together they grabbed the handle and tried to pull it upwards.

"RrrrrrrrRRGGGH— dammit!"

The wood was stuck fast, stubbornly refusing to budge. A second attempt didn't improve things and a third only made their fingers ache.

Joe stepped back and cracked his knuckles. "Ouch."

"I hope it's not locked," Martin said.

"It can't be, there's no keyhole or bolt or anything! We probably need a little more force."

They tried again, bracing their legs against the floor. This time, though, Alice wrapped her arms around Joe's stomach, and Cary helped Martin, and Rachel slipped in next to Charles and added her own strength.

As heavy as the trapdoor was, it couldn't resist six of them. With a sudden _pop!_ the hatch lifted, swinging up on rusted hinges. _Squeeeeeeaak!_ Once it was free it moved quicker than they expected, and a second later everyone fell backwards in a jumble of cursing and tangled limbs.

"Aaaah!

"Crap!"

"Get off get off, that hurts!"

Gradually, they extracted themselves from the pile, Cary wincing, Charles sweating, and gathered round the open hatch. In unison they peered into the darkness. It was difficult to see much; definitely a cellar though. A set of rotting stairs led downwards in the shadows, meeting the barely-visible floor a couple of metres below.

"Okay," Cary said. "Before we do anything else, I'm just gonna put it out there that I don't like where this is going."

"Noted," Alice said. She swallowed. "Are we _sure_ no one has a light?"

Cary blinked. "...Shit, I forgot!" He dug around in his pockets and whipped out a cigarette lighter. "It's better than nothing, right? I know, I'm awesome." He flicked the lighter on, off and a yellow flame sparked to life.

Charles sighed. Although the flame was comforting, it still seemed awfully feeble compared to the darkness below. "Yeah, better than nothing, but – hey, why are you giving it to _me_?"

"Because you're going first, aren't you?"

"I— ugh. Fine." Charles snatched the lighter from him and slithered towards the stairs. "If I die, it's your fault."

The stairway was narrow and without handrails, almost more like a ladder. It didn't look particularly stable – especially after decades of neglect. Charles sat at the edge of the trapdoor, legs dangling over the first step and took a quick, nervous breath.

Rachel crouched down next to him. "Do you want me to—"

"No, it's alright." He stepped downwards, steadying himself with his hands – then took another step, and another, gradually descending out of view. The boards creaked beneath his feet. When his head dropped below the level of the trapdoor, Joe heard a sharp _click_ as he turned on the lighter.

"See anything interesting?" Alice called out.

"Not really. This lighter's full of crap."

"Hey! Then give it back, dumbass!"

"Come and get it! I can see the hole we found, though... whatever made it must've gone right through the floor."

"No axe murderers?" Martin asked hopefully.

"None. Except the one behind you."

"Charles, I really hate you sometimes."

Despite himself, Joe felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Whatever. I'm gonna keep going. It's pretty empty down here, if you want to follow— AAAH!" There was a sharp, sudden _CRACK_, like wood snapping, then a loud _thump_ and a grunt of pain.

"Charles!"

They quickly crowded around the trapdoor, peeping over the edge. Charles lay spreadeagled on the floor of the basement – the last, ancient step had split in two beneath his weight, sending him tumbling to the ground face first.

"God-damnit!" He swore loudly. He'd managed to break his fall with his arms, and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. A brief trickle of red ran from where he'd scraped an elbow. "Guys, I'm okay. You can come down now."

Cary frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Well, I'm not wandering around down here by myself. The rest of the steps are solid. Come _on_."

One by one, they made their way down the stairway, arms out to keep their balance. Charles' bright yellow rainjacket was something to focus on in the darkness – and it became dark_ very _quick once you were beneath ground level without any convenient sources of sunlight. Joe tested each board carefully before he put his weight on it; some of them wobbled a _bit_ too much to be comforting. Eventually, they all reached the bottom of the cellar (except for Cary and Rachel, who'd stayed up top to keep watch in case anything bad happened), and Charles held the lighter up and swept it round in a circle, like an explorer's lantern in a dusty Egyptian tomb.

Strangely, the cellar was _bigger_ than the room above them: the lighter's glow couldn't quite reach the far walls, unable to pierce that unnerving blackness. Like the rest of the mill, the room was almost bare, empty but for some enormous sawblades laying on the floor and some heavy iron chains still hanging from rusting hooks. Thick wooden pillars supported the ceiling above. A tiny, bone-white rat skeleton lay scattered on the dirt, perhaps undisturbed for decades.

Nothing stirred.

"There's another entrance," Martin said. He pointed at the faint outline of a set of wide double doors.

"Why would they— oh. We must be level with the riverbank. They probably loaded the wood onto boats," Alice said. "That makes sense."

Joe rubbed his forearms, shivering a little. The air was very cold. "At least we've got another way out, just in case..."

"Just in case what?"

"I, I don't know. Forget it." _Imagine hearing a scream. Imagine Cary and Rachel being... dragged away. Imagine hearing footsteps... and then a shadow, swinging the trapdoor closed, trapping you deaf and blind in a pit beneath the earth. Starving. Helpless._

_Great, NOW you've made it scary. Horror movies are the _worst_._

"Let's be quick," Charles said, as if he could sense everyone's fears. He walked over to the hole in the ceiling; a faint shaft of light fell through it, sharply angled, illuminating a dip in the ground. A crater. It wasn't large, only a few feet in diameter, but the surrounding soil had clearly been cracked and compacted if something had impacted it at high speed. Charles stepped into the crater, then looked up into the light, following its path through the mill's floor, then its roof, then the trees far above them.

"Something fell here," he murmured. "From the sky. It must've been going really fast to punch through to the cellar. _Really _fast."

"Like...a meteorite?" Joe suggested.

No one was eager to spend much time in the darkness, so they knelt down around the crater and started digging. The earth had been disturbed a little and turned over by whatever hit it, which made it relatively easy to use their hands. Gradually, the hole grew deeper. Dust clouded the musty cellar air and Charles sneezed, nearly dropping the lighter—

"Hey, I think I found something!" Martin said excitedly. He stuck his fingers into the dirt, feeling around; swept it aside one last time. Abruptly, something was revealed at the bottom of the cavity.

_Huh. _Joe frowned._ Another one? I don't know whether I should be surprised, or... if it's exactly what you'd expect._

Martin took the object out of the ground and held it up to the light. He brushed the soil off its edges; it was muddy, grimy, but every one of them could recognise its complex segmented shape. It was something that Joe was very familiar with. Something he'd never thought he'd see, ever again. Something that'd fallen from a distant star, and now someone, somewhere, had somehow led them straight to it.

A small, white cube.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Thanks to thewalkerinme, PuppeteerOllie and Cartoonny for the reviews (keeping the Super 8 fandom alive, one word at a time) and thanks to mrneb for the helpful correction! This chapter took a little longer than usual because I'm no longer on holidays, and any time I spend writing fanfiction from now on should probably be spent writing my engineering thesis instead.<em>

_Oh well. That's life. I'm pretty excited about the next chapter – there will be twists, there will be turns – but it's probably going to take a month or two. I might split it up into parts to get something uploaded sooner. As ever, thanks for reading and sticking around, and I hope it's been an interesting journey so far…_

_*Disclaimers: Freaks and Geeks and Persona 4 are both awesome things you should watch/play and may have inspired certain things in this chapter. I REGRET NOTHING._


	30. Visitors, Part 1

_TRACKING STATION OHIO-DX 23.11.09: status update requested  
><em>_SQUADRON LEADER ALPHA 23.11.17: still tailing contact / ascending rapidly on bearing two-seven-one over / appears to be leaving atmosphere over  
><em>_TS-O 23.11.31: orders are to follow until operational ceiling  
><em>_SL-A 23.11.37: roger  
><em>_SL-A 23.13.05: contact has turned around over  
><em>_TS-O 23.13.15: squadron leader please clarify 'turned'  
><em>_SL-A 23.13.22: contact has switched to opposite bearing but still rising over / we are nearing operational ceiling and cannot pursue much longer over  
><em>_TL-O 23.13.39: understood squadron leader / is there any reason for the change of direction  
><em>_SL-A 23.13.44: negative  
><em>_SL-A 23.13.59: correction / it looks like something is [pause] chasing it over  
><em>_TL-O 23.14.06: squadron leader please clarify 'something'  
><em>_SL-A 23.14.23: cannot clarify at this time over  
><em>_TL-O 23.14.27: squadron leader please clarify 'chasing'  
><em>_SL-A 23.14.38: cannot clarify at this—  
><em>_[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]_

- Excerpt from an air force radio transcript on the night of June 6th, 1979

* * *

><p><span>Visitors, Part 1<span>

Joe sat on the living room sofa, staring dully at the TV. He was still recovering from the eventful weekend and a busy Monday at school, unable to escape that warm haze of tiredness. _I was supposed to finish painting that tank model today… I guess it'll still be there tomorrow. _He shifted on the sofa and felt something crinkle in his pocket – a note from his teacher, folded into a messy square of paper.

_Oh, right. Dad has to sign this for the field trip. _"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you sign this?"

"Yeah, sure." Jack emerged from the dining room and took the note from his hand. He held it up to the light, squinting. "'Permission slip for the school trip on Wednesday'… 'full-day excursion'… 'Springfield military base'… 'parent or guardian please sign here' – wait, what? You're going to the military base?"

Joe turned around, surprised. "We are?"

"That's what it says here. It's an 'informative tour of the equipment and facilities.'"

"I totally didn't read it." _Whoops._

"Well, I'm glad I did – you sure this is a good idea? You guys have spent more 'n' enough time there already, with all the…"

"Medical tests."

"Right, with all the medical tests they did. I don't trust it."

"Dad, it'll be fine. The whole class will be there."

Jack frowned uneasily; then shrugged. "If you say so." He pressed the paper against the wall and scratched out his signature. "Here. But _promise_ me you won't get into any trouble."

* * *

><p>"Alice, you're amazing," Martin said happily.<p>

"I know." She leaned forwards on the cafeteria table, surrounded by the usual lunchtime hubbub. "It wasn't that hard to organise. I just suggested the idea to the school counsellor last week and he sorta ran with it."

"But this is _great!_ Now we can go to the base and find out what they know."

"Oh, sure," Cary said, unconvinced. "We can go to the base, find out what they know, then get caught sneaking around a restricted area and get shot to pieces."

"Since when are you such a chicken?" Charles asked.

"Since that time we were almost blown up by tanks a couple months ago. Remember that, Charles? Since _then._ Sorry for being cautious."

"I agree with Cary," Joe said. "We are literally going into the heart of the enemy."

"Figuratively," Preston corrected. "But, yes, we don't know what's gonna be there. I don't like our chances."

Charles shook his head. "We'll be fine. It's not like we're going to do anything super dangerous. It's a school field trip, for god's sake, we just need to think of a plan which won't get us caught."

"A plan…" Martin trailed off. "Hey, Alice. Has that cube done anything weird yet?"

"Not that I've seen. I hid in my wardrobe and it was still there when I left for school."

"Huh."

Finding the cube had been a slight anticlimax. It looked exactly like the one they'd recovered in the train crash, but after taking it home, this one – so far – hadn't busted any holes in Alice's bedroom walls. (The hole in Joe's room was still there, stealthily covered by a movie poster). Cary had spent an hour picking at it like a Rubik's cube but only succeeded in breaking one of his fingernails.

"So we're going," Alice said, sucking thoughtfully on her drink bottle.

"Of _course_ we're going," Martin replied.

With varying degrees of enthusiasm, everyone agreed.

"Do we tell our parents?" Joe asked.

"Why? They already know, they had to sign our permission slips."

"No, I mean… should we tell them about what we're really doing, what our idea is. Just in case."

"Are you crazy?" Cary hissed. "Imagine how many questions they'll ask! If we tell 'em that, we'd have to tell 'em everything."

Charles paused. "Is that… is really that so bad? They could help. It'd be nice to have some adults on our team if we, you know… if it goes wrong."

"In theory, yes," Preston said, "but I have no interest in being committed to an insane asylum, and I'm _pretty sure_ that's what'd happen if we aren't extremely careful about what we say."

Alice frowned, nodding. "Besides, that puts our parents in danger. I just _know_ my dad would do something stupid if he understood what we're up to. The military would be onto them in a week. By keeping this to ourselves, we're keeping them safe."

_For now, _Joe thought._ But we can't do this on our own forever. Pretty soon, we're going to need help, and when that time comes… _"Alright. It stays secret."

"If something _does_ go wrong," Alice added, "I can come rescue you the next day."

"How, exactly?" Cary asked.

"Boys are going on Wednesday, girls are going Thursday. So if for some reason you don't come back on Wednesday afternoon, it's me versus the entire United States army – and I'm gonna win because I've been _practicing_."

* * *

><p>"Practicing what?" Joe asked after school, as he looked around Alice's bedroom.<p>

"Karate. I thought it'd be a good idea to learn."

"Wow, really? That's super cool. Maybe you can teach me."

"_I_ can't yet, but my dad can – it turns out he was pretty good at it in high school. I thought it'd be fun. And next time something happens, at least I can try and fight back, you know? Be more useful. I just started though so I have _no_ idea what I'm doing. You wanna sit down?"

"Thanks."

Alice pushed aside a couple of pillows and cleared a spot on the end of her bed. Joe took a seat, hands on his knees. Unlike his own warzone of a bedroom, Alice's room was a paragon of simplicity – a desk in the corner, a bed with plain sheets, most things neatly packed away in cupboards. A single window faced the southern part of the yard, letting in the afternoon sunlight. Cheap white paint faded on bare walls. The furniture was old, the floorboards scratched and worn, and voices echoed from the rafters. It didn't feel like a place that anyone _lived _in; more a place where someone just… existed. Hollow. Quiet. Grey.

Gradually, though, more and more colour had begun to seep in, like a garden starting to bloom. A photograph on the desk. A box of used film. A rusting pocketknife. One of Charles' stale Twizzlers, bent into a heart. A shelf of paperbacks with dog-eared covers and crinkly, yellowed pages. And (a new addition) the Hunchback of Notre Dame: snarling sadly on its green plastic pedestal, painted late one night by steady hands while waiting for a train.

Joe had been inside a couple of times before but never for very long. Alice was the kind of person who didn't seem to like spending time in her own house, always preferring to be outside, somewhere else. _For a long time, I guess this wasn't a place she enjoyed living in. Lots of crappy memories. Lots of being alone._

_At least that's different now. Whatever happens, we're _both_ happier._

"You don't have to keep it there if you don't want to," he said, breaking the silence.

"Keep what?"

"The model."

The hunchback peered down at them from its perch atop the dresser, shock and pain frozen on its lips. Alice rolled her eyes. "I like it, Joe. Really."

"I always thought it looked kinda creepy."

"It's not creepy; it's beautiful. If you don't know the story behind it, it might be scary, sure, but if you do… it's beautiful. And sad."

"Doesn't that make _you_ sad, though?"

"Nothing wrong with being gloomy sometimes. There's a reason I picked it over all the cars and planes, you know." She grinned. "Thanks for giving it to me."

_You're welcome. _Alice dropped her schoolbooks on her desk and moved to the dresser, started running a comb through her hair. Joe glanced around, fiddling with his wristwatch. It still felt strange, being in here; strangely personal. _I couldn't care less about seeing Charles' underwear lying around all over the place, but somehow this is completely different. _His actual reason for visiting was to come pick up the watch, which he'd apparently dropped on the porch last week. That had, of course, taken literally ten seconds, but Alice had invited him inside anyways to make the long walk slightly less pointless.

"The watch still works?"

"Yeah. Still ticking."

"You want something to eat?"

"No, no. Um, I should probably go—"

"Don't. Stay a little while." She gave her hair a final shake and set the comb down on the dresser. "It's fine, my dad's not home for another hour."

"Oh. Sure, I guess." He paused, searching for a topic, trying to ignore the huge spider he'd just noticed in the corner. "Is the cube still being boring?"

"See for yourself." Alice walked to the closet and extracted it from beneath a pile of socks. With a cursory glance at its white, scarred surface, she chucked it over to Joe who caught it with a fumble. He threw it up in the air a few times, spinning it like a baseball. The cube didn't feel special – just cold. Smooth. Its matte surface didn't even catch the light, and surely a vital piece of technology would have a _bit_ of sparkle.

Joe sighed, placing it on the bed next to him. "I really thought this would be important."

"How do you know it isn't?"

"When you think about it, the other cubes weren't exciting either. I mean, our one sat in my room for a week before tearing a hole in my wall. That's it."

Alice shrugged. "That's fair. But we know what we're looking for, don't we? If it moves, something's up."

Then, slowly, with a curious glance, she stepped across the carpet and sat down beside him on the sheets. Her fingers lightly brushed against his, maybe by accident, maybe not and Joe turned away awkwardly, heart instantly thumping a little faster. Once again he couldn't help it. _Don't go red, don't go red… dammit, you're going red. _Ignoring him, she reached behind her and grabbed a battered diary from the bedside table, half-smiling at the cover.

Sun fell through the upstairs window, painting the sheets in gold.

It also glinted off the photograph on her desk, and for some reason he looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and compared her face to—

"What?" she asked, eyes suddenly meeting his.

"Uh – its' nothing. I know you don't like talking about it."

"It's OK. I look pretty different to my mom, huh." She nodded at the photograph. "That's her, by the way."

"Yeah." Joe swallowed. The woman in the picture had brown hair, not blonde, and her facial structure was much more round than Alice's. She was standing alone in front of a fountain, a thin smile on her lips. "When's the picture from?"

"A few years before I was born."

"…Sorry for being nosy."

"Don't worry, I totally deserve it after asking all those questions about – you know. I barely knew you. You must've hated it."

_If it was anyone else, I probably would have. But… _"I'm glad you did. It helped, I think."

Together, they stared at the photograph for a long, wordless moment.

Eventually, Alice sighed. "Dad says that I _am_ her kid. I used to not believe him, except now… I guess I do." She snorted. "It's stupid. I don't know which version of the truth would be better. Which one would make me happier. I don't know if I even care." As usual, her voice was calm, firm, but there was still something different about it.

Beneath the steel, an unmistakeable sense of bitterness. "And everyone said it was dad's fault. Which it was mostly, I know that, but it was her fault too, for… giving up. For leaving us behind. Whatever. At least she's still out there, somewhere. That's more than some people can say. Maybe she hates me. Maybe she doesn't remember me. I don't know."

Joe didn't answer. Birds chirped in the trees outside, not a care in the world.

_Why are you such a good person? After being beaten up, dragged through the dirt, growing up alone – how are you still standing?_

"She doesn't hate you," he said. "No one could."

"…Thanks."

"When did you last see her?"

"Seven years ago."

"That's, that's a long time."

"Yep." Alice sniffed and blinked a few times, something in her eye. It was a long time. _Half our lives. _

"What's the book for?"

"Oh, this?" She held it up, taken off guard by the change in topic. "It's for writing."

"I don't get it."

"Means I write in it. All kinds of stuff."

"Like what?"

"Well," Alice said proudly, "it's a secret!"

The book was old, A4-sized, with a brown leathery cover. On the front was a faded picture of a toad and badger, wearing suits and standing by a riverbank. One corner had been folded inwards to make a crude bookmark.

"I am _so_ confused," Joe murmured.

"Okay, I lied, it's not really a secret. Here." She opened it and flipped through, the pages whispering half-glimpsed words. "Last week, for example – on Monday, I wrote about the rain. On Tuesday, I wrote about some stuff that happened last year. On Wednesday and Thursday, I wrote parts of a longer story I've been working on. On Friday, I wrote about a cat that I saw, on Saturday I wrote about summer, and on Sunday…" She looked up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "On Sunday I wrote about you."

Joe twitched. "What?"

"You heard."

"Um… can I see it?"

"Nope! Not in a million years."

He couldn't help but notice that she was being very careful to conceal the pages, holding them just out of view. "So it's like a diary, then."

"Not a diary." Alice shook her head. "It's anything. Anything I feel like. Stories, memories, feelings… it's nice, sometimes, to sit and focus on something else. And besides, I'm not obsessed with collecting dorky models—"

"They're not dorky!"

"—or making movies, or burning things that probably shouldn't burn, so I need _something _to keep busy."

"And I definitely can't read it?"

"Weeeellll…" She frowned. "I can find a page that isn't too embarrassing. Before you ask, that excludes any of the entries about you."

"There's more than one?"

"Yes, there's more than one." Alice laughed. "I should never have told you any of this."

Joe realised that he looked like a puppy begging for scraps and stopped reaching _quite_ so hard for the journal. He couldn't decide if he felt more curious, or surprised, or weirdly self-conscious.

"I have an idea," Alice continued, her voice soft. "Maybe we can write something together. Maybe you can write something about _me_." She looked at him, sitting beside him, with eyes that were warm, somehow expecting, that faint smile upon her lips.

He met her gaze for a second, then had to look away. _Man. She's really close, isn't she._

_ Oh, come on brain, think of something better than THAT._ It was strange, the things you noticed in these moments: how the air was thick, like water. The way the house seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. The dust, swirling in the sunlight. When he breathed he could even smell her – a sweet, quintessential Alice-ness that made the world stand still. _Would the others think that's creepy? Probably._

He glanced at her again, biting his lip a little. His heart was beating almost loud enough to hear. _What am I supposed to do? _Alice seemed content to wait and brushed her fringe behind her ear. He looked downwards, lost in a smile.

The moment stretched into forever.

Then, without thought, his hand moved a little closer until he was holding hers. Her touch was soft, nervous, alive. Joe swallowed.

"Um… Alice? Can I kiss you?"

The smile grew wider. "Of course."

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes, Joe, you just have to say it.<em>

Alice leaned forwards and their lips met, almost too fast, teeth knocking into each other with a jolt of surprise. After that first moment of awkwardness, though… it was perfect. She breathed slowly, breath catching in her throat. They parted briefly, then kissed again, and now there was no hesitation, no anxiousness, only excitement and connection. She tried to be cautious, gentle but the sensation of them being this close sent electricity down her spine.

When she opened her eyes again, leaning back, Joe had the stupidest little grin on his face.

"You look happy," she murmured.

"Do I?"

_Yeah. You look like a star. A stupid, kind, radiant star, and I love you. _Suddenly she reached out and pressed her hand against his chest. She felt him shiver, felt his heart thump; felt the tensed contours of his body through his old green shirt as she pushed him backwards, down onto the bed, his expression betraying the slightest hint of panic. She went down after him, not giving him time to worry, bending over so that they could kiss again – one hand on his hip, the other on his chest, her hair falling in streaks around his shoulders. His arms were laid clumsily by his sides but soon reached up, pulling her closer with unexpected strength.

_This isn't the same as with Todd. He hugged me, and I kissed him once or twice, but that was out of a sense of obligation, because that's what we should've_ _done. We never did _this_. We never sat in my room, and laughed, or cried, or held each other like we both wanted nothing else in the universe. I never felt any of this. This anticipation, this pulse, being filled with thoughts I can't explain. _

_I love you, Joe Lamb. Your face, your smile. Your quiet strength. The way you understand me, and always know what's important. Even the simplest, littlest things, like the way your hair sticks your forehead when you're running in the rain._

Instinct. She felt Joe's lips open and her tongue darted into his mouth, strange and new, somehow putting all those words and thoughts into action – his fingers tangling with her hair, hers exploring his neck, his collarbone, the skin behind his ear. She was dimly aware of something digging into her hip, the bed moving beneath them. Seconds passed, each lasting for a lifetime.

She pulled back. Joe followed her for an inch or two, lips touching, as if he didn't want it to end. With a final, quick breath, his head fell back onto the sheets and they stared at each other with eyes bright.

Alice suddenly realised that she was sweating. As she leaned over him she sensed a bead of liquid trickle down her forehead, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before dripping onto Joe's nose.

"That tickles," he chuckled.

"Sorry."

She shifted slightly, moving her leg over his, and cupped his cheek with her fingers. Slowly, delicately, she ran her thumb over his skin, and that slightest touch brought with it a multitude of sensations. His eyelashes twitched, fluttering in the sunlight. Fingers brushed over parted lips. His chest was pressing against hers so near that she could feel every one of his movements.

_I love you. _"Don't be reckless," she said quietly. "Whatever happens tomorrow."

"I won't."

"Promise me."

"We'll be safe. I promise."

His eyes were unexpectedly serious. Alice sighed, the rush slowly fading. _Even though you're saying that… I somehow don't believe you. The second something happens you're going to go running straight into danger._

_Same as you did for me. _"Have you even got a plan for what you're going to do?"

"Plan?"

"Yeah. A plan for how you're going to steal information from an army base."

Joe pursed his lips. "Not really. We thought it'd work best if we make it up when we get there."

Alice groaned. "Seriously? Can't you guys do _anything_ by yourselves? If I wasn't around, I swear you'd all be—"

* * *

><p>The school bus trundled along the highway to Springfield, its aging suspension struggling with the winding asphalt roads. Inside, the engine's grumble was nearly drowned out by eager, animated voices: forty teenage boys about to miss <em>an entire day<em> of school.

"Guys, we need a plan," Joe said urgently.

"Do we?" Cary asked, leaning on the seat behind him.

"Yes!"

"We never had one before and it went OK."

"This is different. It's not gonna be easy." He exhaled, gazing out the window. Next to him, Charles unzipped his schoolbag and pulled out a black piece of fabric. It appeared to be a balaclava.

"What's that for?" Martin asked.

"Hiding my face, dummy. From security cameras and stuff."

"Charles, if anyone sees you wearing that they're going to tackle you to the floor."

"Come on guys, focus!" Joe muttered. "Our plan: what is it?"

"Well," Charles said slowly, "I thought we were going to go on the base tour with everyone else, see what's up, and then sneak off when we get a break for lunch or something. We can't make a plan when we don't know what's there yet." He slipped the balaclava back into his bag. Behind them, Cary extracted his set of lockpicks from a hidden pocket and tapped Martin on the shoulder.

Preston's eyes narrowed. "_Please_ tell me no one brought a knife."

Martin froze, a little guiltily.

"Are you _kidding_ me? Who're you going to stab?"

"Nobody! It's a pocketknife, I'm using it for the screwdriver!"

"Fine," Preston retorted. "But for the record, I also think 'wait and see' isn't an ideal strategy."

"Very constructive," Charles replied.

"Hey – if you give Joe and me a chance we might be able to come up with something better…"

The bus crested a hill and began descending the far side, brakes squealing as the driver tried to keep it under sixty miles an hour. Early morning light scattered across the forest, through leaves and branches and fading mists until it fell upon the stark, concrete acreage of the Springfield military base.

The base was vast, a scar on the landscape. Grey. Flat. Artificial. Its entrance was rapidly approaching, a heavy gate topped with barbed wire guarded by a half-dozen sentries. As Joe watched, a single, sleek air force jet left the nearest runway, skimming along the treetops before spearing into the sky. The sound reached his ears a second later – a distant, unearthly shriek that made something inside him quiver. Soon enough it disappeared, a speck lost in the blue.

Before he knew it the bus had rolled to a stop. A guard stepped forwards to talk to the driver while others waited, weapons at the ready. The gates slid open.

_We'll be safe. I promise._

* * *

><p>Back at school, things were much less exciting. This was because their history teacher had a distinctive way of sucking the fun out of things, usually via the application of far too many worksheets.<p>

Like this one, for instance, about the entrance of Japan into World War 2. Alice sighed. Theoretically, the World Wars should've been a super interesting topic, but the endless videos and essay questions were already lulling her to sleep; probably would've already, except for the slight knot of worry in her stomach.

She glanced over at Rachel, sitting at the desk to her right. "Hey," she whispered.

The girl looked up, eyes dark. She was wearing a faded purple t-shirt and jeans, her olive skin a little more drawn than usual.

"I was wondering… did they teach you any of this in Japan?"

"I left in primary school before they could," Rachel murmured. "I moved a long time ago."

"Oh. It'd be interesting to see if the schools have a different perspective there."

"They do, I think. They teach war as a mistake, but… remove a lot of Japan's responsibility." Coolly, she turned back to her work. Alice noticed that Rachel was gripping her pen rather tightly; hand steady, knuckles white. The tip rasped across the paper.

"Did something happen?" Alice asked quietly.

"No."

"You seem nervous."

"I'm not. Are you?"

Alice blushed. _I probably look worse. Maybe we both had trouble sleeping. _She realised that she was tapping her foot on the carpet, forced herself to stop. And, suddenly, the teacher's voice from the front of the classroom—

"Miss Dainard, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"No, Mr. Collins. Sorry."

Sighing inwardly, she focused on her worksheet, wondering what the heck the boys were up to.

* * *

><p><em>Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting… <em>

Joe realised that he was tapping his foot on the concrete, forced himself to stop. He couldn't help feeling anxious. After arriving at the gates they'd been taken to some kind of entrance hall – a big, echoing, aluminium-walled box, with a guard at the desk who kept shooting them suspicious glances – to presumably be picked up by someone who actually knew what to do with forty teenagers at an army base. A buzz of conversation bounced around the room, mixing with the hum of the fluorescent lights above, and the huddle of students stayed unusually close together – some excited, some bored, five of them strangely worried. _All of a sudden, now that we're here, messing around doesn't seem like such a great idea anymore. I wonder if we'll see the white room where they kept questioning us. I wonder if we'll run into Lieutenant Forman_—

A woman emerged from the doors at the far end, holding a clipboard and wearing a navy blue business dress. She immediately made a beeline for their teacher and after a brief, muffled conversation involving lots of sharp gestures, she called out above the noise.

"Hello! You are the students from Lillian High School, correct? I was told that you're here for a tour of our facility, and to see exactly how _dedicated_ our servicemen are to protecting you from threats both near and far. The answer is very! Now, there's a lot I can show you, so we'd better get started – please follow me, stay close, and don't touch anything!"

* * *

><p>The tarmac around the aircraft hangar was featureless and flat, radiating the early morning sun. To the left, a runway stretched endlessly into the distance, leading past sheds, control towers, checkpointed guard posts – all made from the same forest-camouflaged steel. Before them, looming menacingly in the gloom of the hangar was a brand new F-15 <em>Eagle<em> strike fighter, its conical nose and swept-back wings a streamlined picture of lethality.

"How much do you think one of these aircraft costs?" their guide asked, turning to the assembled tour group (most of whom were pretty excited about seeing a fighter jet up close).

One boy raised his hand. "A million bucks!"

"Close, but no. Just one F-15 is twenty million dollars."

"_Ooooh."_

_ "Woah."_

"Unfortunately, that means none of you are ever likely to own one, no matter how hard you beg Saint Nick. However, I _can_ tell you that it has a maximum speed of Mach 2.5 – that's 1600 miles an hour – and can fly from here to Russia in three hours flat, carrying a payload of…"

The guide chattered on, running through a range of facts and figures. Her name was Janet and she was actually fairly interesting; Joe found himself getting caught up in her enthusiasm. _She clearly isn't part of the army… must be from another agency. _He peered above the kids in front of him and saw another plane a few yards behind, being worked on by an engineer in orange overalls. A jeep rumbled past to the rear, loaded with marines. Whatever else, the base was busy, almost like its own miniature town.

"Pretty cool, right?" Charles whispered in his ear.

"Yeah, definitely."

And so it went. One hour passed as they were taken from place to place, then two. There was the barracks with its dorms of identical bunks, the armoury with its racks of identical weapons, the radar room which looked like something straight out of a movie. A grumpy-faced marine demonstrated how to fire an obscenely loud machine gun. Another officer showed them historical equipment from the First and Second World Wars.

It was very 'nice', Joe thought to himself. Very controlled. Nothing like experiencing all that power for real, with soldiers running through the streets and artillery firing at the sky.

* * *

><p>"And this," Janet announced grandly, "is what we call the CIC, or Combat Information Center. This is where the magic happens – as it were."<p>

They filed into a large, brightly-lit room. It was divided into sections by four rows of desks; some had TV screens and intimidating control panels built in, with knobs and switches and blinking lights, while others were scattered with pencils and graph paper. Live images were being projected onto the front wall – a map of the world, a grainy camera feed – either side of a sagging American flag. The roof was dotted with dozens of air-conditioning vents that kept the room at a brisk chill. Maybe ten people were currently working inside, heads down at their desks.

"In crisis situations, military movements across the entire country can be monitored from this room. So if America _was_ attacked, this is where you'd want to be." Janet winked. "Not that you'd be allowed in, obviously. But, being able to have a strategic overview of an operation is vital for a commander and usually, information is gathered here and passed on different locations."

Joe glanced around. _If everything comes through this room, maybe there's something we can use? But it'd be impossible to find without being noticed. And surely they can't keep everything in here… there must be an archive room or something, a place we haven't seen yet. _He saw Charles shrug out of the corner of his eye, probably having a similar thought.

"Oh! Hello." Their guide paused as a pair of researchers skirted past them – a man and a woman, dressed in freshly-cleaned lab coats. "Dr. Phillips, Ms. Soderling. Do you have a minute? Perhaps you'd like to explain to these students what you do."

The man briefly considered ignoring them, then stopped. He had a weathered, lined face, in contrast to the woman's more youthful appearance, and his voice was friendly. "Sure thing. Where are they from?"

"Lillian."

A slightly raised eyebrow. "I see. Well, I'm responsible for conducting performance tests of new military equipment, along with my able assistant. Did you seen the F-15s outside?"

They nodded.

"I was involved with designing the electronic control systems – fun job, right? It's a great machine, we're very proud of it. And if you guys work hard, and go to a good college, you could do something just as cool. Like my associate, for instance – Mirka recently graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. She's working on power testing."

The woman gave them a brief smile. She was quite young, Joe noticed, definitely under thirty.

"A lot of interesting stuff goes on here," the doctor continued, "and It's unfortunate I can't show you any of it because I'm supposed to be in a meeting—"

"Of course. Thank you Dr. Phillips, I'm sure you're very busy. If the rest of you will follow me…"

They moved onwards, walking down the central aisle of the information center. The doctor and his assistant disappeared through a side door as Joe kept his eye out for any vaguely suspicious materials._ It's difficult when you don't know what you're searching for, though_. Their guide had a seemingly infinite memory for names and gave each person a nod of acknowledgement as they passed. "Captain Edmeades… Sergeant Talty… Mr. Yukimura…"

The last name belonged to an intelligence officer, dark suit matching dark eyes, and for some reason it made something twitch in Joe's brain. _Déjà vu?_

It appeared the feeling was mutual. As the man strode past, he met Joe's gaze for the briefest of instants, a slight frown on his face.

* * *

><p>They stopped for lunch on top of the base's observation tower. From the outside it appeared similar to an air traffic control tower, except inside, instead of being filled with screens and terminals, it was vacant and mostly unused. Scruffy chairs and empty cabinets lay on the dust-slicked floor, remnants of busier times. What it <em>did<em> have was an excellent view of the entire complex – the tower stood at the very center, emerging from the roof of the main administration building. Students pressed up against its wide, tinted windows, pointing curiously at various landmarks and the town of Springfield in the distance.

Joe had never really considered it before but the base was rather… large. It must've stretched for at least a mile in every direction, dirt and concrete dotted with dozens of structures, and they hadn't even come remotely close to the building where they'd had their 'interrogations' – that was a low, bunker-like complex on the far side by the fence. _This isn't just a military base. It can't be. There has to be other stuff going on here. Underground, behind locked doors… _He turned in a slow circle, trying to memorise the general layout.

To the south, the main runways: attack jets and transport planes parked in a neat grid. Several large helipads. To the east, the vehicle hangars: huge sheds with curving rooves, containing jeeps and trucks and whatever else. Westward was a range of different areas – the armoury, training grounds, the main barracks – and north was utilities: water pipelines and radio receivers and a small, buzzing power station. Below them in the middle was the main complex: a four-story building filled with offices, meeting rooms and mysteries.

Of course, they hadn't seen any mysteries yet. No opportunities to sneak away. _We were so _optimistic_ that this trip would lead to something useful. So naïve, maybe. As if we stand a chance in a place like this. _Sighing, he trudged back to the middle of the observation deck, where the others were gathered in a hushed circle.

"You see anything?" Charles asked.

"No. And I'm starting to think we won't."

"Aww, don't be sad," Cary said. "Because guess what? I'm rescuing us. Again." With a flourish he whipped a lanyard from his pocket, dangling it in front of their eyes. Clipped to the end was some kind of keycard.

They stared at it for a stunned second.

"Are you kidding me?" Preston asked. "You swiped someone's keys?"

"Yep," he replied proudly.

"Where? How?"

"From that doctor guy who talked to us, in the room with all the screens. It was super easy. He should've been paying more attention."

"Lucky he wasn't," Joe murmured. "What's it say?"

Cary peered at the card's smooth white surface. "The label says 'Argus Laboratory 2'."

"Shit! That's it!" Charles exclaimed.

"Shh, keep it _down_."

"…Sorry." He looked around guiltily. "But Argus, that's what we're looking for, isn't it? How long do we have left for lunch?"

Joe glanced at his watch. "'bout thirty minutes."

"That's enough time. Gives us half an hour before the teacher starts wondering we are. There's one problem though."

"What?"

"Where the hell's the lab? The guide never showed us one."

"Oh, that's easy," Preston said. "I saw a sign."

"Where?"

"This building, third floor near the stairs. Were none of you paying attention?"

Cary rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me. C'mon, let's go. The toilet's downstairs, no one'll care if we leave."

Martin paused, sandwich half-way to his mouth. "…Now?"

"Yes, now."

"But I'm hungry—"

"You're the one who wanted to get us here!"

"Doesn't mean we can't finish our lunch."

"Ugh, just take it with you! We can eat on the way!"

"…Fine."

One by one, they grabbed their backpacks and made their way to the tower stairs. Everyone else was too busy staring out the windows to pay them much attention. As they tiptoed downwards, Martin munching on his sandwich, Cary clutching the keycard like a talisman, Joe felt the adrenaline begin to flood through his veins.

_Are we really about to rob a military base?_

_ Yes. Yes, we're about to rob a military base._

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Shorter chapter this time – I decided to split it into three parts, because otherwise it would a) be way too long, and b) take way too long to write. Part 2 should come soon-ish, because even though my thesis proposal is due, I'm excited about what's going to happen. HEIST TIME!<em>

_Also, thanks to thewalkerinme for helping out with some great ideas :-)_


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